


We're Sempiternal, Baby

by ashisverymuchonfire



Category: Bandom, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Arguing, Break Up, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Relationship Issues, Road Trips, kellic - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisverymuchonfire/pseuds/ashisverymuchonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kellin and Vic are on the verge of a breakup. When Jenna notices this, she decides to fix it by sending them on a road trip with one goal: to bond over graffiti. But will this trip do its job? Or will it just make them hate each other even more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anywhere But Here

**Author's Note:**

> short fic holla
> 
> there really aren’t any warnings except the drama/arguing bit. basically it's that plus a mixture of fluff, an intentionally cheesy title, and infinity signs. with a side of Cashby.

**Chapter 1 - Kellin**  
  
“Okay, you fucking idiots. It’s time to fix some shit.”  
  
So says Jenna Mcdougall on Friday, June 14. She’s standing at the front door of the house with her arms crossed and a very determined, I’ve-got-a-plan-and-you’re-not-getting-out-of-it look on her face. Vic is right behind me, staring at her from over my shoulder.  
  
"Nothing needs to be fixed," I tell her.  
  
"Bullshit," Jenna replies, pushing past me into the house.  
  
"Yes, Jenna, of course you can come inside," I call after her, closing the door.  
  
“ _That_  was obnoxious,” she says.  
  
"Almost everything about him is," Vic mutters under his breath. I shoot him a glare, which he ignores.  
  
"See?  _This_  is what I’m talking about,” Jenna says, pointing at us. “This is the shit you need to fix.”  
  
"I don’t know what you mean," I say, sitting down on the couch in the living room.  
  
"You know damn well what I mean," Jenna snaps.  
  
"No, I don’t, actually," I say. "Please explain it to me."  
  
"Maybe she would if you’d stop interrupting her," Vic says, still standing.  
  
"I’m not. I’m talking to her. That’s how conversations work, Vic."  
  
"Hey!" Jenna yells. Vic and I look up. "You want to know what I mean? This is what I mean." She waves her hands around. "For the past couple months or so, this is all you two have been doing. Insulting each other and arguing with each other. You say ‘I hate you’ more often than ‘I love you’. Did you really think that nobody had noticed? Everyone’s worried about you. So you know what? I’m going to fix it."  
  
"For the record," I say, raising my hand, " _I’m_  not insulting anybody. Vic just can’t resist making nasty comments—”  
  
"Oh, so it’s my fault now? Maybe if you wouldn’t keep fucking leaving your shit around and expecting me to do all the work, I wouldn’t—"  
  
"Okay, that is completely irrelevant to anything we’re talking about right n—"  
  
“ _Guys_!” Jenna shouts, making us shut up. “This needs to end. Now. And it  _will_  end, with you two either making up or breaking up. So listen very closely.”  
  
Vic opens his mouth, probably to make some remark about how I’m incapable of listening, but Jenna holds her hand up to silence him.  
  
"Listen without speaking, please. You two are going on a road trip."  
  
"A road trip?" Vic and I repeat.  
  
Jenna nods, smiling a little. “A road trip. I’ve already called your work—you both have a full week off. You’re going to bond over graffiti.”  
  
"We’re going to  _what_?” Vic says.  
  
"Over graffiti," I say slowly. "Are you seriously bringing this back, Jenna? We haven’t done it in months."  
  
"Exactly," Jenna says. "You two can’t seem to agree on anything, so I decided that maybe, just _maybe_ , you can agree on the thing that brought you together in the first place.”  
  
"And if we don’t?" I point out. "What if this turns into a disaster?"  
  
Jenna shrugs. “You decide, no matter what. You decide whether you want to stay together or break up. Frankly, I’m impressed you’ve even gotten this far when you can’t go five minutes without wanting to kill each other.”  
  
"What if we don’t want to do this whole road trip thing?" Vic asks. "You can’t make us. What if we want everything to stay exactly the way it is?"  
  
"Come on. Don’t tell me you’re happy with the way things are."  
  
Vic and I exchange glances. She’s got a point. As much as we like to believe it, I don’t think either of us are very happy with the way our lives are turning out. Not anymore.  
  
"That’s what I thought," Jenna says. "I, personally, think that this will help you two. It can’t hurt to try. So as soon as I leave, you’d better start packing." She turns around and makes her way for the door. "Because if you’re still here when I come back tomorrow, I’m going to kick your asses."  
  
"Wait!" I call. "It’s a road trip. Where are we supposed to go?"  
  
"Doesn’t matter. Anywhere but here. I’ll be back at nine in the morning." With that, she’s out the door, leaving us alone.  
  
Suddenly, Vic and I turn to each other. Softly, he sings, “‘ _Cause it’s nine in the afternoon…_ ”  
  
" _…and your eyes are the size of the moon_ ,” I finish.  
  
He almost smiles.  
  
I almost do, too.  
  
Maybe this won’t be so bad.  
  
—  
  
It’s been ten minutes, and Vic and I are arguing over what to pack. I think that he’s taking way too many unnecessary things. He thinks that I’m irresponsible and have no idea how to pack for a trip. This leads to a frustrated Vic proclaiming that we’ll only pack our own things and that if I find I’ve forgotten something crucial, I should not go crying to him about it.  
  
Fine.  
  
So now I’ve packed about three sets of clothes, and he’s packed about twenty. Diva.  
  
He has also packed a shitload of bathroom products, including his straightener. (He takes his hair very seriously. I mean, not that I don’t, but for him, it’s a fucking  _lifestyle_.) I, on the other hand, have only bothered with my toothbrush.  
  
When I see all these things that he’s packed, I tell Vic that he most certainly is a diva, and he just laughs scornfully. “ _I’m_  a diva? Kellin Quinn Bostwick, are you sure you have the right to call anyone a diva?”  
  
"What’s that supposed to mean?"  
  
Vic just keeps laughing. It’s sort of a bitter laugh, or an angry one. Then again, that’s nothing new. Vic’s laugh always sounds like that now. I can’t even remember what his normal, real laugh sounds like. Come to think of it, I can’t really remember what mine sounds like, either.  
  
After about ten more minutes, I head out into the kitchen to grab a snack. Then I sit down on the couch in the living room, and Vic does, too. I sit on the far right, and he sits on the far left.  
  
We used to sit together in the middle.  
  
"Should we leave tonight?" I ask him.  
  
He shakes his head. “Nah. It’s already pretty late in the day.” He points out the window to the sun setting outside. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”  
  
"Okay," I say. And that is that.  
  
I don’t remember when we started hating each other. We’ve been dating for two years now. We both have jobs, we live in the same house, and we’ve even talked about getting married, in a state that will allow it. But about two months ago, something began to change.  
  
First it was just that some things we used to love about each other were starting to annoy us. We got into more little arguments than we used to, though at first they were almost always resolved quickly.  
  
Then came the big ones. We were having screaming matches at least three times a week, and they weren’t pretty. Sometimes they’d just leave us both angry, and sometimes they’d make one of us cry. Most often, this was me, but I remember one argument that left him in tears—I’d been particularly vicious to him that day. I didn’t think he’d actually cry—he never does—but then I caught him a few minutes after it was over.  
  
This has been us for about two months now. It seems we can’t stand each other, and our last screaming match was yesterday. That one didn’t end in tears for either of us, but it did result in us abusing the wall some more.  
  
I’m sort of thankful that Jenna came up with this, though. Neither of us were going to do anything about our relationship anytime soon, so I’m kind of glad she did. And she’s right: This trip will end in one of two ways. It’ll either A) bring us back together, or B) make us realize that we can’t do this anymore. I’m not sure which is scarier.  
  
—  
  
We wake up early the next morning and leave around seven. We’ve come across a little problem, though: We don’t know where to go.  
  
"Okay," Vic says, stopping at an intersection on some back roads. "From here, we can go one of two ways. There are more cities and people if we turn left. If we turn right, we’ll end up along the coast. I think the answer is obvious."  
  
I say, “Left.” At the same time, Vic says, “Right.”  
  
"Because giant cities and crazy amounts of people are  _so_  romantic,” he says in response to me, rolling his eyes, which signals the beginning of an argument. (We’re the only ones on these roads anyways, so until a car comes up behind us, we can sit here and battle it out as long as we want.)  
  
"Because we’re definitely going to find places to put graffiti on the  _beach_ ,” I shoot back.  
  
"Who says we have to use graffiti? Jenna isn’t here. This is our road trip. We can do what we want."  
  
"I say we have to use graffiti," I say. "It’s the reason we brought things to do it with. Just turn left already."  
  
"Left is evil," Vic says. "Obviously we have to turn right, or this trip will go horribly wrong."  
  
I snort. “See, you can’t even come up with one good excuse to back up your argument.”  
  
"Neither can you."  
  
"And again I bring up the graffiti," I remind him.  
  
"We can carve something into the lifeguard chairs," he suggests. "And there are other places near the beach. It’s just less crowded."  
  
"I like crowds."  
  
"Well, I don’t."  
  
"Well, then, I guess we’re stuck, aren’t we?"  
  
I glance up at the rearview mirror and notice that a car is coming up behind us. “Better hurry,” I say, pointing.  
  
"Okay, right it is," Vic says, starting to move the car forward, but before he can turn the wheel, I reach over and clasp both my hands over his. Then I take the wheel and turn it to the left.  
  
"I think not," I say.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
He tries to fight back, but by the time he can fend me off, I’ve already successfully turned the car to the left. I sit back in my own seat, grinning in triumph. “Don’t even think about turning this car around.”  
  
"Asshole," Vic mutters. "If we end up dying in some horrible accident, it’s your fault."  
  
Even though he says that, he doesn’t really seem too mad at me. He doesn’t turn the car around, at least.  
  
"Fantastic," I say.  
  
It’s only 7:15 on the morning of the first day, and we’ve already had one argument, though it wasn’t a very serious one. I think I’ll try to keep track of how many we get into during this trip.  
  
For a while, we’re both silent. I wonder what Vic is thinking about. Is he thinking about us? I know I am.  
  
The reason I want to take Jenna up on her idea about the graffiti is because she has a point about that, too. The day that I met Vic, I was just taking a morning walk around town, listening to music, when I passed by the park and saw him pacing back and forth in front of a tree. He had a knife in his hand, and he kept holding it up to the trunk before shaking his head and putting it back down again. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve just kept walking. But he intrigued me. So, pausing my music, I turned and went over.  
  
"Hey!" I called when I got closer. "Whatcha doing?" I meant it to be casual, but Vic looked panicked and tried to discreetly hide his knife. "It’s okay," I said, holding my hand up and smiling a little in amusement. "I’m not gonna bust you or anything."  
  
"Oh," Vic said, slowly pulling the knife back out. "Okay." After a few awkward seconds of silence, he turned back to the tree, staring at it like it was a math problem he had no clue how to solve. "I’m trying to figure out what to carve."  
  
I laughed. “I hate that feeling. When you want to write or draw something but you have no idea what. The creative mind is a torturous place.”  
  
"Basically. What’s your name?" He kicked at some of the stones scattered on the ground in what I assumed was a desperate search for inspiration.  
  
"Kellin," I replied, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I probably looked—like I had just rolled out of bed, because, let’s be honest…I had. I was still wearing the clothes I’d slept in, which were horrendously baggy and made me look like a nine-year-old girl. I was about 99% sure that I had bags under my eyes, and that those bags had bags, and that my hair was inadequate for public viewing by possibly-cute strangers who liked graffiti. In other words, I looked like death. At least, that’s what it felt like. I am a morning person, but I am by no means an attractive morning person.  
  
Vic, however, is an attractive morning person. I could tell that the moment I took a chance to really look at him. On that particular morning, he was wearing a tight band t-shirt, skinny jeans, Vans (!!), and a backwards snapback that he somehow managed to pull off. Though it was only six in the morning, he looked like he’d been awake for a while now, and as I looked at him, I quickly gave him a promotion from a possibly-cute stranger to a definitely-cute stranger. Who was currently staring at me as if I was insane.  
  
Shit.  
  
"Kellin?" Vic said, waving a hand in front of my face. "Hello?"  
  
I snapped to attention. “Oh! Sorry,” I stuttered. “I just, uh, I do that. Sometimes. When, uh, in the presence of, uh, attractive people.”  
  
Double shit.  
  
 _Fuck,_  I thought frantically.  _Fuck. It’s too early for this shit. Go be gay somewhere else, Kellin. Learn to keep your mouth shut._  
  
"Oh," Vic said, obviously caught off-guard. He smiled a little, brushing a piece of hair out of his face. "Um…okay. Well, I’m Vic."  
  
"Vic," I repeated.  
  
After another awkward couple of seconds, I turned back to the tree, trying to act natural. “I assume you didn’t come up with anything?”  
  
"Nope. Nothing."  
  
Suddenly, my embarrassment was forgotten. I had an idea. It was so simple…and so cheesy. So cheesy that it couldn’t be ignored.  
  
"How about an infinity sign?" I suggested.  
  
Vic raised his eyebrows skeptically, clearly thinking the same thing I was. “Are you serious?”  
  
"Yeah," I said, nodding as it started to grow on me. "It’s such a cliché, so you do it anyways. It’s irony."  
  
Vic nodded, too. “Should I put the word ‘irony’ next to it so everybody knows?”  
  
I snorted. He raised his knife, but then I got another idea. This one was a bit crazier, but I couldn’t resist it.  
  
"Hey," I said. "Can I do it? I want to add a little something to it."  
  
"Uh…sure." He handed his knife over, still sounding skeptical. I thought that he seemed like a pretty skeptical guy. (As it turns out, he is.)  
  
I carved rapidly, and over my shoulder I heard Vic whisper, “Wow. You’re really fast. Do you do these types of things often?”  
  
"Occasionally," I said. What Vic didn’t know was that by "occasionally", I meant "I can’t go a day without drawing something somewhere". I meant "I’m addicted to it".  
  
When I finished the infinity sign, I turned to Vic and asked, “How would you feel about having a partner in crime?”  
  
"It sounds interesting," he replied, smiling a little, as if I had not fucked up our first conversation two minutes into it by calling him attractive. I theorized that he was just used to people falling all over themselves for him. (I later found out that he was just too surprised to say anything—surprisingly, people don’t tell him he’s attractive that often.)  
  
"Good. Because this is the thing I wanted to add." I was sure I was blushing just at the thought of what I was going to do, so I turned back to the tree and tried to flip my hair so it better covered my face. Then, in one of the loops of the infinity sign, I wrote a K. In the other one, I wrote a V.  
  
"It could be like an insignia or something," I explained quickly. "K for Kellin, V for Vic. I’m assuming your name starts with a V."  
  
Vic gave a small laugh. “You assume correctly.” He stared at the carving, and though most other people would probably be creeped out by now, he just looked happy. “That’s really cool. And it’s not even messy or anything.” He put his hand up to the tree. “It’s, like…perfect. There’s nothing uneven anywhere.” (I would also later learn that Vic is very particular about organization and likes symmetrical things.)  
  
I wasn’t quite sure why I was being so bold. It was probably just the fact that this guy was cute and liked graffiti and seemed like an interesting person, which was good enough for me. It also might’ve been the fact that I was lonely and just wanted someone like this. I just wanted a partner in crime. And I saw the potential in Vic.  
  
Whatever the reason, it was what made me say, “Do you want to go get breakfast at a restaurant or something? We could plan out a few things. If, y’know, we’re going to be partners in crime.” And the rational part of my brain—the one that said,  _You’re a creep, Kellin!_ —was what made me add, “That is, unless you just want this to be a one-time thing.”  
  
And maybe Vic had a thing for somewhat awkward, unattractive morning people who like graffiti. Maybe he was lonely, too. But whatever his reasoning was, it made him say, “Are you kidding? We’re partners in crime now. There is no one-time thing. See that infinity sign? That means forever. You’re stuck in this deal for life, Kellin. And the afterlife. There is no getting out of it.”  
  
That was when I knew we’d get along.  
  
—  
  
"Kellin? Hello?" Vic snaps his fingers in front of my face—current Vic, the one in the car with me right now. "Anybody home?"  
  
"Oh," I say, crashing back into the present. The car is parked somewhere, and Vic is turned to me. "Sorry. I just, uh, I do that. Sometimes. When in the presence of, uh, attractive people."  
  
Vic’s eyes widen as he remembers. Then he smiles a little, but it’s bittersweet. “We’re here,” he tells me.  
  
I glance out the window. “Where is ‘here’, exactly?” It looks like we’re downtown somewhere. There are a bunch of cars milling around and a few people on the sidewalks.  
  
"I decided to take a little detour into town while you were spaced out before we got into the city." He opens the car door and steps out. "Now we’re gonna get some breakfast over there." He points to a nearby restaurant.  
  
"What if I don’t want breakfast?" I ask, just to be stubborn.  
  
"Well, too bad. You’re getting some. Come on."  
  
It’s one of those restaurants where we have to seat ourselves, so Vic chooses a booth in a corner, like he always does when he gets to pick where to sit. It makes me think of how particular he is, which makes me think of when we first met. That was two years ago. Oh, how the times have changed since then.  
  
We pull the menus out of the little menu-holder on the side, and a few minutes later, a waitress comes over and gets our drink orders. She has sleek black hair, dark eyes, and pale skin without a single mark on it. She’s very pretty, and this pisses me off, because I think she’s giving Vic the look. The look that means she’s interested and not afraid of showing it.  
  
"Okay," Vic says, pulling out a pen and a blank sheet of paper. "We’re gonna make something today, and we need a place to do it."  
  
"Gotta be somewhere that wouldn’t be too complicated to reach," I say, getting right down to business. "This is gonna be a small one if we want to keep moving. Right?"  
  
"Okay, now stop stating the obvious," Vic replies, but he’s smiling a little, teasing. Jenna really was smart to mention the graffiti—it brings out the best in both of us, when everything else brings out the worst.  
  
We don’t even have to wonder what sort of design we’ll be using; it’s been the same thing every time since we’ve met—an infinity sign with both our initials inside it. When we do things on our own, we’ll just draw whatever, but when we’re together, it’s always our symbol.  
  
The thing about us is that we’re not professional. I don’t even know if you’d call us graffiti artists. We just like marking things up wherever we go. I forgot how much I missed it.  
  
The waitress comes back with our drinks, stealing several glances at Vic. On the one hand, I don’t blame her—I mean, who  _wouldn’t_  want to look at him?—but on the other hand, she just pisses me off even more the longer I watch her. He’s mine. Disregard the fact that we seem to have grown to hate each other. He’s still mine.  
  
Vic notices this, and after she takes our orders and leaves, he says, “Calm down. She was just looking at me.”  
  
"Yeah, and I was just looking at you on the morning I met you," I reply. "And that looking led to talking, and now here we are, two years later."  
  
Vic rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the notebook. “Drama queen.” Now he’s annoyed.  
  
He doesn’t say anything for a while. He doesn’t write anything in the notebook, either. He just stares at it, refusing to look up until the waitress returns with our food. “Is there anything else I can get you?” she asks.  
  
Vic does look up then—at her. I think she’s hoping he’ll say, “Actually, I’m kind of in the mood for a blow job, and Kellin sucks at it—no pun intended.” But he doesn’t. He just smiles and says, “No, I think we’re fine.”  
  
"Yeah," I add, grabbing Vic’s hand and linking his fingers with mine. "I think we’re good here."  
  
Her expression changes to one of surprise, and I can’t help it—I smile triumphantly, a smile that says,  _Sorry, not sorry._  It’s probably a bitchy move, but I don’t care. The look on her face is priceless.  
  
"Alright," she says, "well, I’ll check back with you later—enjoy your meal!"  
  
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Vic removes his hand from mine and says, “That was really unnecessary.”  
  
"On the contrary," I say, still too proud to regret it. "I think it was very much necessary."  
  
He doesn’t respond. In fact, he doesn’t talk to me at all until we get out of the restaurant and hop back into the car. As soon as both our doors close, he turns to me and says, “Why are you so fucking melodramatic?”  
  
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I say, which just pisses him off even more. We both know that I know what he’s talking about.  
  
"You make a big deal out of everything. And you have no personal regard for other people. Girls swoon over you all the time, but do you know what I do? I  _let it go_.”  
  
“ _I_  make a big deal out of everything?” I interrupt. “I hardly did anything back there! You’re the one who’s arguing with me about it instead of just  _letting it go_.”  
  
"It’s not just that. I’m fucking sick of you being so impulsive. I have to watch you like you’re a three-year-old so you don’t get your ass into trouble. And on top of that, you don’t even give a shit about the consequences of what you do! No matter what it is!"  
  
"That’s just me, Vic," I snap. "That’s a part of who I am. If you can’t handle me or you’re sick of me, then fine. You’re right—I don’t give a shit. I can find someone better."  
  
For a moment he just stares at me, clenching his jaw. Then, in a voice full of tightly-controlled anger, he says, “Good. Go. Get out. I’d rather be anywhere but with you. Anywhere but here.”  
  
I stare right back at him for another moment, before jumping back out of the car and saying, “Me, too.” I slam the door.  
  
At first I don’t think he’ll actually do it—but he does. He starts the car up and drives away, leaving me in the dust without so much as a backward glance.  
  
I storm down the sidewalk in the other direction. He didn’t look back, so neither do I. Some random people are watching at me with interest, as if my personal problems are more important than anything else in their lives. I want to tell them to go fuck themselves, but then one girl shouts, “Got into a fight with your boyfriend, then?”  
  
The voice is somewhat familiar, and when I turn toward its direction, I see our waitress standing outside the restaurant with a faint smirk on her face. Either her shift is over, or she came out just to see us.  
  
Bitch.  
  
"Go fuck yourself!" I shout back, rushing quickly away before I have a chance to kill someone.  
  
I don’t know where I’m going, and I should probably pay attention if I don’t want to get lost, but logic is shoved into the back of my mind as anger takes over.  
  
 _He’s_  the one who made a big deal out of it, not me. Okay, so maybe I was kind of a dick, but he shouldn’t have gone completely berserk on me, right? Then again, this happens a lot lately—one of us does the littlest thing, and any possibilities of a truce are shattered. We go from somewhat civilized to screaming at each other in minutes. It used to be nothing like this. We used to love each other. Now we’re just an endless string of time-bombs—as soon as one goes off, the next one prepares itself, and God only knows what will set it off.  
  
After what feels like a million years of running, I turn a corner into an alley, slowing down as fatigue steps in. Maybe it’s because of what just happened, or maybe (probably) it has something to do with the fact that I woke up way earlier than I’d planned to avoid getting my ass kicked by Jenna, but all of a sudden I’m just. So.  _Tired_. All I want to do is sleep.  
  
So, not caring where I am or what I look like or who might see me or what I’m going to do now, I lie down on the ground. (This is not something I ever thought I’d be doing.) And I sleep.  
  
—  
  
…And I wake up wet.  
  
Not just wet, but soaked. Drenched and getting even more drenched. It’s storming, pouring, the rainwater absolutely everywhere, and I can see white flashes. Thunder follows them shortly after.  
  
"Fuck. My. Life," I mutter, pulling myself to my feet. I don’t know what time it is, since I didn’t bother to wear a watch. I can’t really use the sky or the position of the sun or anything, either, considering it’s just a bunch of grayness and the occasional glimpse of lightning.  
  
Then I remember:  _Wait. I have a phone. Phones have the time on them. Duh._  
  
So I pull it out, shielding it from the water with my hand (which isn’t much better) and checking the time. It’s about three in the afternoon. Because I don’t really like hanging out in the middle of a storm, I call Vic to ask if he can come back and pick me up (we can argue later), but he doesn’t answer. Goddammit.  
  
Is he still mad? I slept through my anger. Now I’m just cold and wet and hungry and even more tired than I was when I fell asleep.  
  
I step out from the alley, where it’s even windier. I’m convinced that it’s actually raining up—the drops seem to be traveling in no specific direction except towards my face. “Fuck my life,” I repeat to no one in particular.  
  
I need to make something.  
  
The feeling comes with no warning and at the worst time possible. But even with all these other problems, I can only wonder,  _Do I have a tool with me?_  
  
I reach into the pocket that doesn’t have my phone. Of course I have a tool with me. I always do, even though Vic and I stopped for a while. You never know when the desire may strike. As I told Vic on the morning I met him, the creative mind is a torturous place.  
  
So I pull out the Sharpie pen—it claims to be permanent, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it washes away, especially in this weather—and duck down underneath the roof jutting out and protecting the doorway of one of the stores. I crouch down and uncap the Sharpie, savoring these not-dry-but-not-getting-any-wetter moments. Then, since I’m in a wordy mood, I write the first words that come to my mind near the bottom of the wall:  
  
 _Sorry for the rain. I hope you know I never meant any of it._  
  
I put the cap back on my Sharpie and my Sharpie back in my pocket, before standing back up and making my way, alone, down the sidewalk. I don’t know where I’m going. I just hope that, eventually, I’ll end up back with Vic.  
  
When I think about it, I realize that I don’t actually hate him. I just hate what he becomes around me, and what I become around him. I hate what our relationship has become—a train wreck. A broken bridge. But those are things you can fix. Right?  
  
After a while, I think about the words I wrote on the wall. Most of the time, they’re mindless when I first create them, but then they gradually start to gain meaning. Or maybe they’ve always had meaning; it just isn’t clear right away.  
  
The words on the wall are words I’ve written to Vic. An apology for the rain—for all the shit I, personally, have caused—and a hope that he knows I never meant for this to happen to us.  
  
The rain—the literal rain, not my metaphorical rain—is slowing down slightly, but I still feel like a drowned cat that didn’t die, and Vic is still missing in action. So I decide to call it a day and pull out my phone, opening up a voice recorder app and pressing the “Record” button.  
  
"Day one," I say, over the sound of the storm. "When we get home, I am going to kill Vic with his own guitar."


	2. Playing the Blame Game

**Chapter 2 - Vic**  
  
I can’t believe I forgot my fucking phone.  
  
I remembered everything else. I packed extras of everything else. I even told Kellin that he was going to forget something important and that I would show no sympathy when that happened. But it’s happening to me instead. I forgot my fucking phone.  
  
I’ve been driving around town in this rainstorm for hours, searching for Kellin, since I can’t call him and ask him where he is. It has proved to be extremely tedious and extremely frustrating, but I’m not just going to leave without him.  
  
 _Just watch,_  I think to myself.  _He’s probably safe inside somewhere, eating ice cream or something, and tomorrow he’ll pop up out of nowhere like he’s been right in front of me all along._  
  
Because that’s Kellin for you.  
  
I sigh and park on the side of the road. Maybe, if I’m lucky, someone will walk past me, and I can call Kellin using their phone. That’s what I’ve been hoping for, but I haven’t been having any luck since the storm started. Who would be out in this weather?  
  
But just as I’m thinking that, someone runs past me.  
  
I jump out of the car and rush around it to the sidewalk, trying to ignore the rain immediately soaking me to the bone. “Hey!” I call. “Can I talk to you for a second?”  
  
The guy glances over his shoulder but doesn’t slow down. “If you can catch up with me! I’m not stopping!”  
  
At first I think,  _What the hell?_  But then I figure that he’s probably my best shot, so I sprint after him.  
  
He looks like he’s around my age, with a black tank top, tattoos, and hair that looks auburn now but is probably more red when it isn’t dripping wet. “Why are you running?” I ask him.  
  
"My boyfriend and I," he pants, "are practicing the art of racing in the rain. Trying to see who can run faster. I can’t afford to stop."  
  
"Well, I don’t see him," I say, taking a quick look around, "so you must be either really far ahead or really far behind."  
  
He shakes his head. “He’s coming from the opposite side of town. We’re meeting at a pizza shop. He always wins these things, because his legs are so fucking long, but I always try to beat him anyways.”  
  
"Sounds fun," I say. "My boyfriend’s around here somewhere. I just don’t know where."  
  
"Think you could call him?"  
  
"That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I forgot my phone and I wanted to know if you had one I could use to make the call."  
  
"Yeah, I’ve got one. I’ll let you use it when we get up there."  
  
"That’s great," I say. "Thanks. I’m Vic, by the way."  
  
The guy nods. “No problem. I’m Alan.”  
  
We run in silence for the rest of the race, with Alan leading the way. When the pizza shop comes into view, a voice shouts, “Come on, you sexy ginger! I want a peanut butter pizza already!”  
  
Alan slows down. “Fuck you, Austin!”  
  
Standing right outside the entrance to the pizza shop is a tall guy with dark hair and even more tattoos than Alan. His arms are crossed over his chest, and I can see a faint smile on his face. “You can still win, Alan!” he says. “I haven’t officially gone inside yet!”  
  
Alan must know it’s a trap, but he picks up speed anyways, and I chase after him. “Let me win for once and I’ll get you your peanut butter pizza!” he yells.  
  
Austin waits, and when Alan is barely five feet in front of him, he opens the front door and steps inside.  
  
"Asshole!" Alan says, as Austin steps back outside. "No peanut butter pizza for you!"  
  
"Oh, really?" Austin leans forward and pecks him on the lips. "What about now?"  
  
Alan shakes his head. “You’ve gotta promise me more than that.”  
  
"Fine. I promise you more than that."  
  
"Seriously, Austin."  
  
Austin just laughs, turning to me. “Who’s this?”  
  
"Uh, I’m Vic," I say, giving him a little wave. "I kind of just need to make a phone call."  
  
Alan pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me. “We might as well go inside instead of standing out here in the freezing rain,” he suggests.  
  
So we head inside and sit in a nearby booth, Alan on one side and me on the other, as Austin goes up to order and I dial Kellin’s number. He answers on the third ring.  
  
"Who are you, why don’t I recognize your number, and how did you get mine?" he demands.  
  
"Calm your tits. It’s Vic."  
  
"Vic? Whose phone is this?"  
  
"It’s a guy named Alan’s. Look, I—"  
  
"Wait, why didn’t you just use your own phone?"  
  
I take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable. “I, uh…I forgot it.”  
  
Kellin bursts into laughter.  
  
I sigh. “Yeah, yeah. You can shut up now.”  
  
"No, no, this is too good. This is too fucking good. Victor Vincent Fuentes, Overpacker and Rememberer of Everything,  _forgot_  something. And not only did he forget something—he forgot his fucking  _phone_. I hope you’re aware that I am never going to let you live this down.”  
  
"I am completely aware of this," I say. "Look, I’m gonna pick you up. I’ve been looking for you for hours. Where are you?"  
  
Sometimes when I call him, asking him where he is, he gives me a clue instead of a direct answer, then expects me to figure out what he means and find him. I almost expect him to do that this time, but instead he says, “You know what? I’m not really pissed anymore, and your missing phone just made my millennium, so I’m gonna show you mercy. I’m at Subway. The restaurant, not the underground train thing. Still in the same town.”  
  
"Okay, thanks. I’ll be there soon." It’s a bit awkward with Alan sitting across from me, but I add, "Hey. I’m…sorry about earlier."  
  
There’s a short pause, and then Kellin says, “Yeah. Yeah, me too.” He hangs up.  
  
Alan looks like he wants to ask what that was about, but then Austin sits down next to Alan with the pizza, singing some gibberish-sounding song. I can only make out the last line, which sounds somewhat like, “ _I want a peanut butter pizza all the waaayyy_!”  
  
"Oh no. The peanut butter pizza song," Alan says teasingly, and Austin smacks him lightly.  
  
As we dig into the peanut butter pizza, which actually doesn’t taste as weird as it sounds, I can’t help but watch the way Austin and Alan interact. It hurts a little, because when I look at them, I see us. Me and Kellin. In the beginning. And I want it back.  
  
Finally, Austin asks me, “So what’s the deal with the phone call?”  
  
"Uh, my boyfriend and I kind of…well, he ran away somewhere. But we don’t live here; we’re just passing through. And I’ve been trying to find him, but I couldn’t call him because I’m an idiot and I left my phone at home. He’s at Subway, apparently. I don’t know where Subway is here."  
  
"We could take you there," Austin says.  
  
"If we haven’t annoyed you to death," Alan adds. "And if it hasn’t happened yet, God knows it will."  
  
"No, it hasn’t happened yet," I say. It’s the truth, too. Yes, they remind me of Kellin and I, but in the best way. I like them. I want to keep them around a little bit longer.  
  
So after we’re done, we run through the rain back to my car, since Austin and Alan apparently walked from their house to their starting points for the race. Alan sits down in the driver’s seat, with Austin sitting shotgun and me in the back. Austin turns to Alan and says, “Jesus, take the wheel.”  
  
Alan shrugs. “Okay, fine. You can drive. I don’t really care.”  
  
"I meant you."  
  
I smile to myself. “Kellin and I thought we were the only ones who made that joke.”  
  
"You and who?" Alan says, as I hand him the keys and simultaneously realize that these two could be kidnappers driving me to my demise.  
  
"My boyfriend and I," I explain as he starts the car, which isn’t too difficult to figure out how to drive. "One of us would get in the driver’s seat, and the other would say, ‘Jesus, take the wheel,’ and then we’d argue over who we meant by Jesus, and the next thing we knew, an hour had passed and we’d gotten nowhere."  
  
"You two kind of sound like us," Austin says, smiling. He didn’t hear my phone conversation with Kellin, but Alan did, and he raises his eyebrows at me in the rearview mirror as he pulls out of the parking spot. I try to send him a message with my eyes:  _Don’t ask._  
  
"To Subway we go," he proclaims, raising his fist and changing the subject.  
  
The short ride mostly consists of much flirting and couple-y things on Austin and Alan’s parts. When we pull up to Subway, Austin asks me, “Are you staying anywhere? You mentioned that you were passing through.”  
  
"Uh, no," I say. "We didn’t really plan on staying here that long. We could, though. We don’t really have a set destination anyways."  
  
"Oh, okay. I was just gonna let you know that if you need a place to sleep for a day or two, our house has an extra bedroom. And you wouldn’t have to pay us like you would for a hotel."  
  
"You’re getting creepy, Austin," Alan says. "He’ll think we’re predators of some sort."  
  
Austin holds his hands up. “Hey, I’m just acknowledging all the options.”  
  
I laugh and hop out of the car. “I’m gonna talk to Kellin and see what he thinks.” I’d like to ask them a couple of things, actually. Things about their relationship.  
  
Kellin waves at me from a booth when I step inside. “Hey,” he says when I get closer. “So who was this guy Alan whose phone you used?”  
  
"I found him and his boyfriend Austin while I was looking for you. They’re saying that if we want to stay in this town for a little while, we can stay at their house."  
  
He raises his eyebrows. “Are they predators?”  
  
"I was thinking the same thing," I say, smiling. "But, no, I don’t think so. They’re nice. They remind me of us."  
  
Kellin raises an eyebrow at that.  
  
"Before," I add, and he nods in grim understanding.  
  
After a few seconds of silence, he stands up from the booth and heads out to the car with me trailing behind. It’s still raining buckets outside, and when we hop into the backseat, I can’t help but stare at the water dripping from his hair. Some people are just so hot when they’re wet.  
  
Wait. When was the last time I thought something like that?  
  
Though Kellin is very attractive, I’ve found that I can’t even acknowledge his physical appeal when I’m constantly pissed at him. But here I am, openly indulging in the eye candy sitting next to me, as Alan turns around, points to said eye candy, and says, “I’m assuming you’re Kellin?”  
  
"I’m assuming you’re Alan or Austin?" replies the eye candy.  
  
"Alan Ashby," Alan says, "live and in person."  
  
"So, what’s the plan here?" Austin asks.  
  
Kellin and I exchange glances. He nods. “I think we’ll be staying with you guys,” I say.  
  
"Great choice," Alan says in the voice of a game show host as he pulls out of the parking space. "And for your prize, you get a gay couple and a townhouse in which its inhabitants have sex every day."  
  
"You have sex every day?" Kellin says. I can’t help but think,  _I wish Kellin and I had sex every day._  
  
Austin laughs and shakes his head. “No, but the people right next to us do. Do you have any idea how thin townhouse walls are? They’re  _thin_. At least, ours are. So, uh…just be prepared for that possible awkwardness.”  
  
"We probably should’ve warned them beforehand," Alan says. "If you change your mind now, we’ll understand."  
  
"Nah, it’s fine," Kellin says. "We like sex. Sex is great."  
  
I laugh and move slightly closer to him, hoping nobody notices.  
  
The drive is short, and before we know it, we pull into another parking space and head inside to Alan and Austin’s townhouse. We’re only in there for a few seconds when I notice some suspicious moaning coming from the other side of one of the walls.  
  
"Oh, no," Austin says. "They’re at it again."  
  
Kellin grins. “Ah, the joyous sound of human sexual intercourse.”  
  
I make a face at him. “Pervert.”  
  
Alan leads us up to the guest bedroom, where we set down our suitcases. “We could put your wet clothes in the dryer,” he suggests.  
  
"That sounds like a good plan," Kellin says, his shirt already half-off. "Give us a minute."  
  
So Alan closes the door and walks away. When I turn back to Kellin, he’s raising his eyebrows at me provocatively.  
  
"What?" I ask. In response, Kellin lifts his shirt slowly over his head, smirking a little.  
  
I shake my head. “Oh, no, you don’t. You are  _not_  turning me on right now.”  
  
Kellin still says nothing. He just tosses his shirt to the floor and kicks his shoes off, then works on unbuttoning his jeans.  
  
"You are  _not_  doing a strip tease—”  
  
He drops his pants down and leaves them on the floor, taking a step forward. Now he’s completely naked, save for his boxers. “Too late.”  
  
"Okay, now give me the clothes," I say, trying hard to sound at least somewhat responsible. But my gaze makes its way up and down his body, and Kellin, wonderfully vain asshole that he is, starts to move his hips, completely aware of what he’s doing to me.  
  
"But my boxers are wet, too," he says, faking innocence. "Could you maybe pull them off for me?"  
  
I want to tell him that he is perfectly capable of doing it himself, but my body has other ideas. Finally giving in, I step forward and press our lips together, a sensation I haven’t felt in far too long. We are rough and urgent, as if we only have so much time to do this. “I hate you,” I gasp in between kisses, “you sexy, perverted fuck.”  
  
Kellin smirks against my lips, but before we can get any farther, there’s a knock on the door and Austin’s voice on the other side, saying, “Okay, uh, we got the dryer ready and everything. So if you guys have your clothes….”  
  
I break off our make-out session, but Kellin, surprisingly, doesn’t seem to mind. I don’t even have time to wonder why before he kneels on the floor and yanks both my pants and boxers off simultaneously.  
  
Okay. That’s why.  
  
"Just give us a minute," I tell Austin, pulling my shirt over my head. Kellin takes his boxers off slowly, his eyes never leaving my, uh… _exposed_  area.  
  
We round up all the soaking wet clothes, the whole time trying our best to ignore each other’s complete nudity. I open the door slightly and hold out the hand with the clothes. “Okay, they’re right here!”  
  
Another hand takes them—I’m assuming it’s Austin. I can hear him laughing as the footsteps start to fade away. “Fuck you!” I call, and he just laughs louder.  
  
When I close the door and turn back around, Kellin is sliding a new pair of boxers on, along with a new pair of jeans. “How long are you gonna make those last?” I ask, digging through my suitcase. I, for one, have an abundance of clothes to choose from in case of a situation like this. Kellin, on the other hand, does not.  
  
"However long I normally do," Kellin says. "We’ve got a washer and dryer now. I’ll just reuse these outfits as many times as I want."  
  
"I don’t think we’re staying here for the whole trip," I tell him. "We won’t have that washer and dryer once we leave."  
  
He flips me off. This is what he does when he knows I’m right, can’t come up with a response, and doesn’t feel like arguing. Well, it’s better than actually arguing.  
  
—  
  
When I wake up the next morning, Kellin is pacing back and forth. He looks like he’s been up for a while now.  
  
"Oh, Thank God," he says when he sees me watching him. "The great sleeper has arisen. I was starting to think you’d died. Which would’ve been a real bummer because then our graffiti insignia would be no more."  
  
I snort, covering my face with my pillow. “Give me five more minutes before you pounce on me. And that last sentence was grammatically incorrect.”  
  
"What? How?"  
  
"Well, you didn’t use your tenses consistently. If you’re gonna say ‘would’ve been’, keep it like that. Don’t change it to ‘would be’. Plus, it was a fragment."  
  
"As if you’re some grammar expert."  
  
"That was also a fragment."  
  
He yanks my pillow away from me. “Alright, time to get up, Grammar Police Chief.”  
  
"No."  
  
He grabs my arm and starts to pull me. “Yes. Hey, remember that time when you forgot your phone?” He smirks.  
  
I groan. “Fuck you. Now I’m definitely not getting up.”  
  
"Yes, you are."  
  
"No. Viva la bed."  
  
"What the hell does that even mean?"  
  
“‘Viva la’ is, like, ‘alive’. ‘Life’. Now go.” I wave my hand at him.  
  
"So did you just say ‘alive bed’, then?"  
  
"I live for bed."  
  
"No." He tugs at my arm.  
  
"Bed is life." I smack him lightly.  
  
"No. Get up."  
  
"Viva." Smack. "La." Smack. "Bed."  
  
He smacks me back. “Get.” Smack. “The fuck.” Smack. “Up.”  
  
I sit up suddenly, realizing something. “When was the last time we did something like this?”  
  
"Ha ha!" Kellin raises his fist triumphantly. "You’re up!"  
  
"No, seriously," I say, climbing out of the bed (regretfully). "Before yesterday, when was the last time we’d kissed? Or flirted? Or just messed around like this?"  
  
Growing more serious, Kellin takes a step toward me and pecks me on the lips. “I might as well do it while neither of us are pissed,” he says. Then he starts pacing back and forth again, the same way he was when I first woke up. “Okay, so I don’t think Alan or Austin are awake yet. I’d been thinking about leaving earlier, but you were still sleeping, so I waited. But now you’re up, so I think we can get out of here pretty quickly and be on our way. Maybe leave a note or something.”  
  
I just look at him then. “You’ve been planning to just  _leave_? Without even saying ‘Thank you’ or anything?”  
  
He shrugs. “Well, like you said, we’re probably not staying here the whole trip. And that’s why I said we could leave them a note or something. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like them; I just kind of want to get a move on. To wherever.”  
  
I shake my head. “No. We can’t just up and  _leave_ , asshole.”  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why am  _I_  an asshole?”  
  
"It’s like what I said yesterday: You never take other people into consideration. It’s always what you want, regardless of anyone else. And you do it all the fucking time."  
  
"Sorry I can’t be a saint," Kellin spits back. "Why is it that whenever you do something, it’s okay, but when I do something, it’s me being a selfish asshole?"  
  
"Whoa, whoa. When has that ever happened? Give me one example."  
  
"How about right now? I could call you an asshole for always being skeptical and criticizing everything, but I don’t. I  _let it go_ , as you told me to do yesterday. But you? You get pissed over everything I do. You always find something bad about me.”  
  
I shake my head. “Oh, no. Don’t you try to blame this on me. Don’t tell me it’s my fault that we’re even having this conversation.”  
  
"Well, if you weren’t so critical of everything—"  
  
"If you weren’t so insensitive and rude—"  
  
"If you didn’t always act like you know better than everyone else—"  
  
"Fine!" I throw my hands up. "Have it your way, Kellin. Have it your way, just like you always need it to be."  
  
Kellin rolls his eyes, opening the bedroom door. “Oh, no,” he says mockingly. “Can’t have it  _my_ way, or else I’m an asshole. You know what? I really don’t give a shit anymore. Let’s stay as long as we want. I like ‘em, actually—you know, Austin and Alan. A hell of a lot better than I like you.” With that, he turns and storms down the hall, his loud footsteps—though they’re more like childish stomps—echoing around the house. He’s even louder than the people next door who were having sex last night.  
  
Across from me is Austin and Alan’s bedroom, and when I look in that direction, I see that they’re both standing in the open doorway, staring at me. I guess they’ve been listening to us.  
  
I sigh, my anger slowly beginning to fade. “That…happens a lot.”  
  
Austin nods. “We kind of figured that.”  
  
—  
  
After everything slows down, Alan insists on serving us breakfast. Apparently he’s the housewife, and even though he witnessed my argument with Kellin, he seems completely undeterred and determined to make us feel welcome.  
  
That doesn’t work as well as he probably hoped it would, considering that throughout the whole meal, Kellin and I are shooting each other nasty looks and giving each other the silent treatment. But, hey, he tried.  
  
Shortly afterward, just before Kellin and I are about to leave the room in separate directions, Austin says, “Kellin. Vic. Alan and I have devised a little something for you.”  
  
Kellin and I exchange glances. We’re not as mad as we were, but we both still refuse to be the one to give in and apologize.  
  
"Oh," I say, sitting down on the couch in the living room. "And, uh, what might that little something be?"  
  
Alan sits down next to me, and I think I can detect a mischievous glint in his eyes. “A date.”  
  
Immediately, Kellin and I both say, “No.”  
  
"Yes," Austin says, sitting in a chair across from me. "There’s a park just outside of town. You’re going to it."  
  
"You sound like Jenna," Kellin says. I laugh a little, before remembering that I’m mad at him.  
  
"Jenna’s the one who made us go on this road trip," I explain.  
  
Alan nods. “Well, you listened to her. Why not take our advice, too?”  
  
"Um…because we’ve known her for more than two days?" I say.  
  
Alan rolls his eyes. “Bullshit excuse. You’re going and you’re making up.”  
  
Kellin and I stare at each other for a few seconds. After a long pause, I say, “Fine. Where’s this park you’re talking about?”  
  
Before we know it, we’re in the car and driving off to the park. Kellin isn’t saying anything, and I’m not, either. I kind of want to, but I also kind of don’t. I’m always the one to apologize, because Kellin is so fucking stubborn. If I let him, he could probably go weeks without talking to me.  
  
So when we’re sitting in the parking lot, watching a few kids play on the playground and run around in the fields and woods of the park, I’m the one who sighs and says, “Well, are we gonna get out?”  
  
It’s not an apology—I refuse to let it be. It’s simply an invitation.  
  
Kellin shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”  
  
So we hop out and make our way over to a bench, sitting down as far away from each other as possible. Kellin folds his arms across his chest, so I do the same thing, making it a point to look away, anywhere but at him. My eyes scan the area, and unexpectedly, I rest my gaze on an empty wooden picnic table. I think of the knife in my pocket, and suddenly, I can feel the urge inside me—the urge to create something.  
  
I can’t help myself. So I turn to Kellin, thinking,  _Maybe I’ll make him apologize next time._  And I say, “I want to carve.”  
  
He turns to me, all anger and resentment falling from his face at the sound of those four words. He raises his eyebrows, silently asking,  _Where?_  
  
I nod toward the picnic table, and he stands up. I follow him as he starts to walk over. “There are a bunch of people here,” he says. “I’ll cover you.”  
  
So when we reach the picnic table, I kneel down and discreetly pull my knife out as Kellin stands in front of me, leaning on the table, fake-casual. There aren’t many people here, but he does it anyways—we always have for each other, when necessary.  
  
I carve our sign not on the top of the table but underneath, on the side that nobody sees. Other people have already had this same idea—I can see various past words and messages scribbled—and Kellin and I are just adding to the mess with our dorky little symbol.  
  
I can’t help but allow myself a small smile when it’s all said and done. I crawl back out and stand up, brushing my shorts off. “Done,” I proclaim, returning my knife to my pocket.  
  
Kellin smiles back at me. “Fantastic,” he says, and then he seems to force himself to frown again. “I still think you’re an asshole. I’m only staying with you for the graffiti.”  
  
I take a step closer to him. “Oh, really?”  
  
"Really," he replies.  
  
I reach my hand out and lightly trace his face with my fingers. “So, if I kissed you,” I say softly, “you wouldn’t like it?”  
  
"Nope," he says firmly. "Not at all."  
  
I kind of miss being able to stay mad at him.  
  
"I don’t believe you," I say, and with that, I kiss him, biting his bottom lip a little. He lets out a small moan, and I grin. "See?" I say, pulling away. "That wasn’t too bad, now, was it?"  
  
"That was terrible," Kellin says, grabbing my hand. "You need kissing lessons. Let me show you how it’s done."  
  
He leans forward slightly, but I put my free hand up to stop him. “Whoa, partner. Knowing you, that would probably be a bit much for all these virgin eyes.” I motion to all the people around us.  
  
He sighs, letting go of my other hand. “Fine.” Then he smirks a little. “Hey, remember that time when you forgot your phone?”  
  
I smack his chest. “Suck my dick.”  
  
"Oh, I will."  
  
I smack him again. He just laughs and starts backing away. “Oh, no. I’m terrified.” Then he runs off to the playground.  
  
I run after him with an actual physical feeling of my heart being lifted. The warm summer breeze whips past us both as Kellin nearly crashes into an empty swing on the swing set. I jump into the one right next to him, and he kicks off in an effort to start swinging. “I am going to be the highest person in this entire park,” he declares, “and no one can convince me otherwise.”  
  
I simply sit in my own swing, watching him. “Oh, yeah,” I say, smiling. “You’re pretty high, alright.”  
  
"No, I’m not. I’m just more in touch with my inner child. And you’re just boring." He sticks his tongue out at me like a little kid.  
  
"No, I’m mature."  
  
Kellin rolls his eyes. “Maturity is so overrated.”  
  
But he slows down until his swing is only moving slightly and we’re at about the same level again. The eye candy raises his eyebrows suggestively, and the bright sunlight shining from behind him only makes it better. “Kissing lessons,” he says, taking my hand and pulling me out of my own swing. He tilts his head up and kisses me softly, not caring who sees. There aren’t many people here—this particular swing set is near the edge of the playground, next to an open basketball court.  
  
Just as I’m starting to forget why I was ever mad, someone at the basketball court calls out, “Go be faggots somewhere else!”  
  
Kellin pulls away and hops out of his swing, immediately turning toward the court.  _Oh, no,_  I think, grabbing his arm. He is absolutely terrible at ignoring these types of comments.  
  
"Kellin," I say in a warning tone, but he ignores me. Of course. He can ignore me, but he can’t ignore the idiots.  
  
"Why?" he shouts at the guy who opened his mouth. "So we don’t poison the children with our gay? Fine! Get over here; I dare you! Get over here and punch me in my stupid gay face!"  
  
“ _Kellin_ ,” I repeat, firmer. He’s not at all afraid of conflict—in fact, he invites it—but that’s very inconvenient sometimes. This is one of those times.  
  
The guy shrugs and walks toward us. As he gets closer, I can see that he’s about our age, but a bit larger. I grab Kellin’s other arm, holding him back, and he shoots a look over his shoulder at me. “Let me go,” he says. “I can do this.”  
  
"No. I’m not letting you."  
  
He twists himself free of my grip as the guy marches up to him and, without hesitation, grants Kellin’s wish by punching him in the face. Kellin reels backward but recovers quickly, stepping forward to return the favor, but I take ahold of both his arms again before he can make his move. “Kellin, no,” I snap. In a softer voice, I say, “Let it go.  _Let it go_.”  
  
Kellin struggles in my grasp, but the guy seems satisfied and starts to head back to the court, throwing over his shoulder, “Stupid fag. You’re a fucking abomination.”  
  
“ _You’re_  an abomination!” Kellin spits back as I start to drag him away.  
  
 _How many people saw that?_  I wonder, scanning the area. Most of the kids are oblivious, caught up in their own little worlds, but some parents are glancing our way. I nod at them casually as Kellin gives up and simply lets me lead him away. I hope they don’t think that all gay people are as violent and certifiably insane as he is. That could be bad if we want rights.  
  
We end up back in the car, and as soon as I sit down in the driver’s seat, I cover my face with my hands. “Why the hell do you do that?”  
  
"Do what?"  
  
Now I throw my hands up. “That! What you just did back there!” He knows I hate it when he plays dumb. “Why the hell do you, like I said, make a big deal out of  _everything_? Why can’t you just ignore anything?”  
  
"Because I’m a fucking person, Vic," he replies. "I make mistakes. Okay? Sorry you can’t handle that."  
  
"Oh, come on. God knows I make mistakes. But if you don’t stop some of these things you do, you’re gonna get your ass into trouble, and I’ll be there to say ‘I told you so.’"  
  
Kellin rolls his eyes for about the third time today. “Just drive, you hypocritical, pretentious douchebag.”  
  
"I will, you obnoxious, immature prick."  
  
So I drive. Luckily, the park isn’t that far away from Austin and Alan’s house, so the tense silence doesn’t last very long. Kellin reaches the front door first and swings it open, me trailing behind.  
  
Austin looks up from a book he’s reading on the couch. “How’d it go?”  
  
Kellin doesn’t respond; he just storms away—again, like a child—so I answer for both of us: “Started out good. Ended not-so-good. As you can probably tell. Sorry. You and Alan can kick us out if you want. I understand if you don’t want to deal with us.”  
  
Austin shakes his head, setting the book down on the coffee table in front of him. “No, it’s okay. Really.” After a pause, he says, “What, exactly, is happening with you two?”  
  
I shrug, sitting down next to him and staring at my hands, clasped together in my lap. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I just know that at some point within the last two months or so…I guess we started falling out of love with each other. That’s why Jenna sent us on this trip. She wanted to see whether it would help us or hurt us. I think she just got tired of watching us and waiting for something to tip the scale one way or the other. So she made it happen herself. And I really don’t know. Y’know, if we’ll end up making up, really making up, or breaking up for good.”  
  
After the words are out of my mouth, I realize that I’ve said more than I intended to. But Austin doesn’t seem to mind. He just nods, looking like he wants to help in some way. After a pause, he says, “I’m gonna think about it.”  
  
I narrow my eyes. “Think about what?”  
  
He stands up. “What I can do.”  
  
"Oh, no, you don’t have to do anything for—"  
  
He just holds his hand up. “You’re right. I don’t. But I want to.”  
  
—  
  
A few hours later, Austin tells me about a nightclub.  
  
"It’s only a couple of blocks away from here," he says. "It’s really cool—I’ve been there a few times myself. But I know you and Kellin really aren’t any closer to making up, so I think that if you’re gonna go, you should go alone. Unless you don’t really like that kind of stuff—I was just thinking."  
  
I raise one eyebrow. Alone at a really cool nightclub—this sounds interesting. “No, I like this idea.”  
  
He nods, smiling. “Yeah, I’m thinking up more of a plan so that when you get back, I can help you and Kellin start fresh the next day. Just thought you’d need a night out first, to take your mind off things.”  
  
"This highly appeals to me," I say, smiling back. "I’ll go. God knows I need a night out. Thanks for the suggestion."  
  
So once the sun sets, to the nightclub I go. As soon as I step through the door, I am immersed in a wave of bright, colorful lights and energetic music. The atmosphere is infectious, and I take it all in, smiling to myself. Austin was right—this is pretty cool.  
  
I’m only in here for a few more seconds before I notice a person with a very familiar outfit and a very familiar hairstyle sitting at the bar on one of the stools.  
  
 _But wait a minute. That’s not right. That can’t be…_  
  
I make my way closer, and by the time I’m only a few feet away, I find that attached to the very familiar outfit and very familiar hairstyle is a very familiar face.  
  
“ _Kellin_?”  
  
He spins around suddenly, obviously as shocked to see me as I am to see him. “Vic?” he says, blinking a few times—to make sure I’m real, I guess. “What are you doing here?”  
  
I sit down in the stool next to his. “What are  _you_  doing here?”  
  
He shrugs. “Alan said it seemed like I needed a night out alone. So he recommended this place.”  
  
"That’s funny," I say slowly, "because that’s exactly what Austin said to me."  
  
We stare at each other for a few seconds. “You don’t think…?” I begin.  
  
Kellin nods a little. He looks dumbfounded. “I think they did, Vic.” He gives a short laugh. “I think they did.”  
  
We stare at each other for a few more seconds, trying to decide how to react. “Well, it’s not gonna work,” Kellin says finally. But after a pause, he adds, “How are you, you hypocritical, pretentious douchebag?”  
  
I shrug. “I’ve been better. How about you, you obnoxious, immature prick?”  
  
He shrugs, too. “Same.”  
  
Maybe it’s just the atmosphere of the nightclub, or maybe it’s just the surprise of seeing him here (probably both), but something makes me want to forgive Kellin. Something that couldn’t be found at Austin and Alan’s house, where we avoided each other all day.  
  
So after another pause, I say, “The dance floor seems so empty.” In reality, it’s not all that empty, but maybe Kellin will take the hint.  
  
He nods a little. “Yeah. I guess it is.” He raises an eyebrow. “Are you thinking of fixing that?”  
  
"Well, it  _is_  a dance floor. Dance floors generally demand to be danced on.”  
  
Kellin leans forward, and I have to refrain from kissing him. “Well, Vic,” he says softly. “Are we going to dance, then?”  
  
I smile, reaching over and taking one of his hands. “Sure. Let’s dance.”


	3. Lover Is Childlike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if there is anyone out there who gets the whole "perfect enemy" reference, I love you forever

**Chapter 3 - Kellin**  
  
I can’t stay mad at him when he wants to dance.  
  
Because Vic  _doesn’t_  dance. Not very often, anyways, and never by himself. Most of the time, he’s content to just watch as everyone else has fun while he sits back and thinks,  _I would never do something so stupid._  
  
That’s a lie, though, and we both know it. He likes it, actually, at least when he’s with me. Sometimes, like tonight, he’s even the one who suggests it. So as much as I want to keep giving him the silent treatment, I know I can’t pass this up. I love to dance. I love it even more when it’s with him.  
  
I take his hand, and we head out to the dance floor. It’s not slow and classy—this is a nightclub—but that’s perfectly fine. It’s more informal, giving us some room to mess up.  
  
Vic starts out shy and awkward, like he always does. “Okay,” he says, “I think I might’ve changed my mind about thi—”  
  
I hold one finger up and press it over his lips. “Shh. Don’t think. Just dance.”  
  
He nods reluctantly. And we dance.  
  
We dance, we kiss a little, we laugh, we get a little bit drunk, and we live for right now. The night lets me forget that an hour ago, I was pissed at him. It reminds me why we’ve stayed together for so long—we love each other. We really do.  
  
And when we finally get back to Austin and Alan’s house, they can see it in everything we do. Austin raises his eyebrow knowingly. “Have fun?”  
  
"Hell yes," Vic replies. He kisses me on the cheek. "Thanks. We, uh…we needed that."  
  
Alan winks. “We know.”  
  
We head back to the guest room and fall into bed together. The world is bright, and everywhere there are lights and colors and kissing and euphoria, and I don’t care that it makes me sound like a stoner or a hippie to say that, because it’s true.  
  
I pull my phone out of my pocket, remembering that it’s the end of the day. “What are you doing?” Vic asks.  
  
I open the voice recorder app, pressing the “Record” button. “Day two,” I say. “I am  _not_  going to kill Vic with his own guitar.”  
  
—  
  
I wake up to Vic spooning me. His face is buried in my hair, and I can hear his soft breathing next to my ear. With my eyes still closed, I smile to myself.  
  
"You smell nice," he says sleepily.  
  
I laugh a little. “That could be taken as either sweet or creepy.”  
  
"I hate you," Vic says, his lips nipping at my earlobe.  
  
I slide out from underneath him, rubbing my eyes and crawling out of bed. “I hate you, too.”  
  
Vic groans. “Come back to bed, Kell.”  
  
I shake my head, smiling. “Get  _out_  of bed, Vic.”  
  
"We are not doing this again.”  
  
I lean back over the bed, my lips just barely grazing his cheek. “Pleeeease, Vic?” I make a pouty face.  
  
Vic opens his eyes slightly. “You’re such a child.”  
  
"Maybe, but you love me anyways."  
  
"Stop lying."  
  
“ _You_  stop lying.” I poke his shoulder.  
  
Gently, he pushes my hand away, laughing. “Burn in hell.”  
  
I snort, continuing to poke and prod him. “You’re so romantic.”  
  
"I am  _very_  romantic. You’re living proof. You can’t keep your hands off of me.”  
  
I remove my hands and stand straight up. “Fine, then, pissplane. Have it your way.”  
  
"Did you just call me a  _pissplane_?”  
  
"I did." I kick at the bed. "Come on, do we really have to go through this again?"  
  
At that moment, Alan pops into the room. “Made breakfast,” he announces. “We’re not waiting for you.” He sticks his tongue out, then walks away.  
  
I turn to Vic. “Hear that? You’re not gonna get any breakfast if you don’t hurry the fuck up.”  
  
Vic sits up slowly. “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” he says, hopping out of bed. “I’m not gonna pass up Alan’s cooking. It’s a lot better than yours. Especially the pancakes. They’re a lot fluffier.”  
  
I flip him off and follow Alan out into the kitchen, and Vic follows me.  
  
While we’re eating, Austin says, “So, I’m assuming last night went well?”  
  
Vic and I share a grin across the table, a big change to the glares we exchanged yesterday. “It was absolutely fantastic,” Vic says.  
  
Alan smirks. “I want more detail than that.”  
  
"Honey, don’t be a stalker," Austin says condescendingly, to which Alan replies with his middle finger.  
  
"Uh, nothing too special," I say. "We danced."  
  
Vic shoots me a look. I guess he didn’t want anyone to know that he dances.  
  
"That’s very special," Alan says. "What are you gonna do today? Have a romantic date at a fancy French restaurant?"  
  
"You know, we just might," I reply, smirking back at him.  
  
"I’ve got a little something planned, actually," Vic says.  
  
"Does that something involve a bed and a lack of clothes?" Alan asks.  
  
Austin sticks his tongue out at Alan. “Pervert.”  
  
"Oh, come on. You love me."  
  
"I think not."  
  
"I think yes."  
  
"You think wrong."  
  
"This sounds familiar," Vic interrupts, locking eyes with me.  
  
I laugh, because he’s right—they sound like us. Well, us before we couldn’t stand each other.  
  
For the rest of the meal, I keep looking at Vic, thinking about how if Jenna hadn’t come up with this idea, we’d probably be eating in silence at our house. Or we’d be arguing over something.  
  
Needless to say, I like this much better.  
  
Afterward, Vic and I climb into the car, and Vic blindfolds me with one of the many shirts that he packed. Somehow, I don’t find his particularity annoying anymore. I find it cute.  
  
I beg him the whole drive to tell me where we’re going, but he refuses to even give me a hint.  
  
"How do you even know where you’re going?" I ask. "Have you been here before?"  
  
"I drove past it yesterday while I was looking for you. It might be kind of cheesy or it might be kind of cool. I don’t know. I just thought it’d be kind of fun for us to do."  
  
"Dude, right now you could take me to a pile of garbage and I’d love it. Hey, remember that time when you forgot your phone?"  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"Nope. I’ve found your weakness. If you don’t tell me where we’re going, I will not shut up about your grand failure."  
  
"I am not telling you where—"  
  
"REMEMBER WHEN YOU FORGOT YOUR PHONE?!?!?!?!"  
  
I try not to laugh at my own obnoxiousness.  
  
"Lord, give me strength," Vic says.  
  
"AND REMEMBER HOW YOU TOLD ME THAT I WAS GOING TO FORGET SOMETHING IMPORTANT?" I continue. "AND YOU TOLD ME NOT TO COME CRYING TO YOU ABOUT IT? WELL, LOOK WHO FORGOT SOMETHING IMPORTANT!!! NOT ME!! YOU!!!!!!!"  
  
"How can one person be so  _loud_?”  
  
"AND WHAT DID YOU FORGET? TELL ME, VIC, WHAT DID YOU FORGET?"  
  
He sighs. “My phone.”  
  
"DING DING DING!!!! YOUR PHONE!!! YOU FORGOT YOUR MOTHERFUCKING PHONE!!"  
  
"I remember when I first met you and thought you were just an awkward little ball of cuteness. I was so ignorant."  
  
I start to say something else, but then I burst into laughter, and despite the fact that he probably wants to murder me right about now, Vic does, too.  
  
"Okay, seriously," I say in between giggles. "Where are you taking me?"  
  
The car stops, and a few seconds later, Vic unties the blindfold. “I’m taking you here.”  
  
The place is run-down and somewhat empty. In fact, as I observe it more closely, I realize that it’s completely empty—it’s an abandoned building.  
  
Most people would probably be disappointed, or at least a bit confused. But I just turn to Vic and ask him, “Is this date what I think it is?”  
  
Vic reaches into the backseat and confirms my suspicions by pulling out an assortment of tools—knives, Sharpies, cans of spray paint. “Oh, hell, yes. We are going to make this place ours.”  
  
The front door creaks when we open it, and so do the floorboards we step on. I can see other things written on the walls, but they’re mostly smaller things—we pretty much have the whole place to ourselves.  
  
Vic is a few paces ahead of me, and when I catch up to him, I find him standing in the middle of one of the many empty rooms, staring at the floor intensely. “I’ve got an idea,” he says, setting down the things he’s carrying. “Can I have the red spray paint?”  
  
I shake it and hand it to him, and he starts to draw a large circle in the center of the floor. I don’t realize what he’s doing until he starts to add a star inside of it, and then some symbols.  
  
"It’s a devil’s trap," he explains with a little smirk, which I return.  
  
"How  _Supernatural_  of you,” I tell him.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
I stick my tongue out at him. “Nobody says that anymore, dipshit. Where are we, eighteenth-century England?”  
  
Vic rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Let’s split up. And then we can meet back down here for our signature.”  
  
"I call the black spray paint."  
  
"Fine. We meet in the devil’s trap in one hour."  
  
"Deal."  
  
With that, we’re off. It is 10:32.  
  
At first, it’s almost intimidating. There’s so much empty canvas that I’m not sure where to start. Then I decide to not give a fuck and just lie down with a knife. I’m going to carve something into the wooden floorboard.  
  
From there, it’s effortless. Vic and I make our way around the house, drawing and writing whatever comes to our minds. The time flies by, and before I know it, Vic is calling out, “Five minutes left!” Then, after a short pause, he adds, “I’m gonna go back outside to the car and get something, okay?”  
  
"What’s the something?" I call back. I’m on the second floor, while he’s on the first.  
  
"It’s a surprise!"  
  
"But I hate surprises!"  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
I shrug and turn back to the wall I’m staring at. The red spray paint is in my hand, and I’m going to use it to create my own little surprise for Vic.  
  
 _Quick, Kellin,_  I think.  _It’s not that hard to write shitty poetry._  
  
I stare at the wall for another minute or so, and when nothing comes to me, I turn around, about to give up. That’s when it does come to me.  
  
It’s not long—only one sentence—but each word is weighted with memories and emotions. That one sentence sums up everything I’ve ever felt for Vic. It sums up the entire past two years of my life.  
  
 _You are such a perfect enemy._  
  
It doesn’t seem like much, but to me, it’s the best six-word story I’ve ever heard. It’s a story I know by heart—one of hating the person I love, one of wanting to slap the same person whose lips I never get tired of kissing, one of crying in that person’s arms even though he was the one who made me cry in the first place.  
  
"Time’s up!" Vic yells.  
  
"Okay!" I turn away and head back downstairs, turning a corner and stepping into the devil’s trap he made. He’s already standing in it, holding a stereotypical picnic basket. As soon as I reach him, he opens up the basket and pulls out an equally stereotypical red checkered picnic blanket.  
  
"Here’s where the cheesy romantic part comes in," he says as he sets it up. "Thought you might like to make fun of it."  
  
I laugh, sitting down. “A romantic picnic inside a devil’s trap inside an abandoned building that’s falling apart. You’re fucking fantastic.”  
  
He sits down across from me and shrugs, suddenly looking a bit shy. “Thanks.”  
  
"Where’d you even get the basket and stuff?"  
  
He smirks a little, opening it up and pulling out some food. “Austin and Alan.”  
  
"Figures. Hey, remember that time when—"  
  
Vic holds his hand up. “I swear to God, if you mention my fucking phone one more time, this date is over.”  
  
"I wasn’t going to. I was going to say: Remember that time when your brother tried to teach us how to skateboard?"  
  
He smiles a little. “Oh, God. I try not to. Remember that time when you broke your foot from jumping out the second-story window?”  
  
"Needless to say, I don’t think I’ll ever be doing that again. Remember that time when…"  
  
Without even realizing it, we’ve started switching memories back and forth.  
  
"Remember that time when we went water-skiing?"  
  
"Remember that time when we got lost in a giant corn maze?"  
  
"Remember that time when you forgot your phone?"  
  
"…Fuck you."  
  
"Oh, come on. You knew it was coming."  
  
After we finish our cheesy picnic lunch, I tell Vic, “Go upstairs and look at the wall to your left. I’ve got a little surprise for you.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow in automatic skepticism, but then he just shrugs and heads upstairs. A few seconds later, he reappears at the top of the staircase, looking down over the railing at me. “Perfect enemy,” he says. “I like that. And guess what, Kellin?”  
  
"What?"  
  
He smirks a little, starting to walk back down. “You’re in luck. I forever stay your perfect enemy.”  
  
"Forever?" I repeat.  
  
He’s standing in front of me now. “Forever.” He leans forward and kisses me softly.  
  
When we both pull away, I say, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I pick up the black spray paint, turn to the nearest wall, and mark the house with our infinity sign.  
  
Maybe our relationship isn’t as hopeless as we thought.  
  
—  
  
As we’re hopping into the car, my phone rings. It’s Alan—I got both his and Austin’s numbers yesterday so that we could keep in touch after this trip is over. I answer it. “Hello?”  
  
"Kellin." His voice cracks. "I need your help. Yours and Vic’s. Austin and I—actually, never mind. I’ll figure it out—"  
  
"What happened?" I interrupt.  
  
"We had a fight. A big one. And now I’m at a hotel."  
  
"What? Where’s the hotel?"  
  
Quickly, Alan gives me the location, and I repeat it to Vic, who types it into our GPS. “Okay,” I tell Alan, “we’ll be there in a few minutes. Then you can tell us everything. What room are you in?”  
  
"Uh, room number 274. Second floor."  
  
"Okay. Thanks."  
  
When I hang up, I explain what’s going on to Vic.  
  
"They had a fight?" he says. "They don’t seem like…I mean, they looked like they really…I don’t know. To me, they just never seemed like the type of couple to fight. Not that bad, anyways."  
  
"Well, if people only saw us today and not any other day," I say, "don’t you think they’d think the same thing about us?"  
  
—  
  
I knock on the door to room number 274. Alan opens it almost immediately.  
  
"Hey," he says. I try not to notice the redness around his eyes. "Come on in."  
  
He leads us both inside, where a small black suitcase is lying on one of the beds, still closed. Other than that, the whole room itself looks mostly untouched.  
  
Vic sits down on the bed without the suitcase, Alan sits in a desk chair, and I stay standing. “So,” Vic says, “what happened between you and Austin?”  
  
Alan shakes his head. “We just…started fighting. I don’t even know how it happened. It was like, one minute we were just talking, and the next thing I knew, we were screaming at each other, and at that moment I hated him so much, and I guess he hated me, too, because then he was telling me he wanted my shit packed and me out of the house by tomorrow morning. So I just grabbed some things and threw them together and then I left, because I couldn’t stand being with him any longer. But then when I got here I started to, y’know, cool down, and I realized I didn’t really hate him.”  
  
Vic and I exchange glances. This sounds familiar. It sounds like the time he kicked me out of the house.  
  
"Has this ever happened to you two before?" Vic asks.  
  
Alan shakes his head again, staring at the floor. “No, not really. I mean, we’ve argued, but…never as bad as this.”  
  
"Luckily, you’re speaking with the kings of horrific arguments," I say. "Give me a minute to confer with my colleague." I motion to Vic.  
  
There aren’t many private places in this room, so we end up in the bathroom. As soon as we close the door, Vic says, “We’ve gotta get them back together.”  
  
"No shit, Sherlock."  
  
"Fuck you, Watson," he replies smoothly. "I mean it literally. Like,  _together_. Like, back in the same room.”  
  
"And that’ll magically solve everything?"  
  
"Well, it worked pretty well for us last night, didn’t it?"  
  
I shrug. “Good point.”  
  
He smiles a little. “I think I’ve got an idea.”


	4. I Hate Everything About You

**Chapter 4 - Vic**  
  
Kellin and I are parked down the street from Austin’s and Alan’s house. Kellin is driving for once—it seems I’m the person who’s going to be carrying out this part of the plan, so I’m in the passenger seat. Kellin’s job is to be my escape. Alan is in the back—he doesn’t really have much of a purpose at this point in the procedure.  
  
"Got the invitation?" Kellin asks.  
  
"Check." I hold up the folded slip of paper, which has Austin’s name written on it in Kellin’s fancy-shmancy cursive handwriting. Inside, this slip of paper reveals that Austin has been "cordially invited" to a "special" meal at the same pizza place that he and Alan raced to when I first met them. We even mentioned peanut butter pizza, which apparently is Austin’s weakness. He’ll probably know automatically that his boyfriend has something to do with it, but according to Alan, he’ll come anyways because curiosity (and peanut butter pizza) will inevitably get the best of him.  
  
Okay, so this plan isn’t exactly genius, but it’s all we’ve got, and it’ll at least do something. So Kellin says, “Okay. When you ring that doorbell, pretend that you’re running from lions. Bring out your inner child. You know, the one who rings people’s doorbells and then runs away laughing maniacally.”  
  
"Thanks for the pep talk," I tell him, opening the door and climbing out. "Don’t worry; I’ve got this."  
  
I walk up to the front porch quickly, scanning the area to make sure that no one else is watching me. Then I set the paper down at the front door. I ring the doorbell, and as soon as I hear Austin’s footsteps, I run to the side of the house, just in case he gets to the door before I can reach the car.  
  
Sure enough, as soon as I round the corner, I hear the door opening. “Hello?” Austin calls. I hold my breath.  
  
A few seconds later, the door shuts again, so I peer out around the side to make sure that he took the paper. It’s not on the front porch step anymore, so I sprint back to the car, and just as I reach it, I hear the door reopen and Austin call out, “Alan!”  
  
“ _Shit shit shit go go go_ ,” I say, and as soon as I close the door, Kellin attempts to floor it while looking as if he is  _not_  flooring it.  
  
Alan glances back out the window at Austin. “He’s looking the other way right now,” he reports. “He’s—shit, turn a corner!”  
  
Luckily, we’ve just reached the end of the street, so Kellin makes a sharp turn around the corner and keeps driving.  
  
"Okay, I can’t see him now," Alan says. "I don’t know if he saw us, but he might’ve heard us practically burning fucking rubber."  
  
"Well,  _that_  went well,” I say sarcastically, taking a deep breath. “Knew it wouldn’t work.”  
  
"Stop being so cynical," Kellin says. "Who says it didn’t work? He’s got the invitation, so he’ll come. He and Alan can make up and remember that they do not, in fact, hate each other, and everyone goes home happy."  
  
"Is it really that simple?" Alan asks.  
  
Kellin and I exchange glances. “Not all the time,” I say, always the bearer of bad news. “But it worked for us last night. What you and Austin planned.”  
  
Alan smiles a little. “Well…that’s good.”  
  
"You’ll fix it," Kellin says, discreetly reaching across the center console and taking my hand.  
  
"How do you know?" Alan asks.  
  
Kellin sends me a knowing half-smile. “Because if we can fix our relationship, then you can sure as hell fix yours.”  
  
—  
  
Well, here goes nothing.  
  
It’s 1:27 in the afternoon, and Kellin, Alan, and I are sitting in a booth near the very back of the pizza place. Kellin and I are on one side with Alan on the other, and we’re all anxiously waiting for Austin to walk through the front door. Alan cracks his knuckles and bites his lip, glancing at the entrance approximately every three seconds.  
  
"It’s okay," I tell him. "We’ve still got three minutes before he’s supposed to be here."  
  
"But he’s always early," Alan says.  
  
As we continue sitting there in silence, a little bell dings, signaling the opening of the door. We all glance up while trying not to be obvious about it, and sure enough, there he is in all his glory. It is 1:29.  
  
"He’s still early," I whisper. "Go get him."  
  
Alan nods. Then he stands up.  
  
Kellin and I watch as he makes his way to the front of the place. At the very first booth sits a peanut butter pizza that we ordered ten minutes ago, along with a folded card that stands in the center of the table. Kellin wrote Austin’s name in cursive on it, the same way he did with the invitation. Austin is staring at the whole scene with interest, and then his gaze shifts to Alan, who is now standing right in front of him.  
  
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it doesn’t seem like they’ve completely made up just yet. Finally, Alan gestures to the booth and the pizza, and after a pause, Austin shrugs and sits down.  
  
"Yes!" Kellin says. "Progress!"  
  
"You know, we might as well get pizza, too," I say.  
  
He raises an eyebrow. “Peanut butter pizza?”  
  
"It’s not as weird as it sounds, I promise."  
  
He laughs a little. “Funny how this time  _I’m_  the skeptical one.”  
  
I can’t help but be slightly annoyed at that comment—I’m not  _that_  skeptical—but after a quick roll of my eyes, I push the thought away and go up to order us our own pizza.  
  
When I get back with it, I find Kellin curling his hands around his eyes like binoculars. “I think we done good, Victor,” he declares, nodding in the direction of Austin and Alan. I glance over at the table. I can’t see Alan’s face because his back is to me, but Austin looks like he’s smiling. Alan says something funny, I guess, because then he laughs.  
  
"See? I told you it would work."  
  
Kellin sticks his tongue out at me and grabs a piece of the pizza. “I could’ve come up with that idea.”  
  
Not long after, I look up to see Austin and Alan standing up. They look like they’re about to leave, and they’re going to leave together. Alan looks up at Austin, as if he’s unsure, and Austin nods and takes him by the hand, a smile on his lips.  
  
Kellin starts clapping, and after a few seconds, I join in. Austin and Alan both turn around, and Alan rushes back to our table. “Thanks,” he says breathlessly. “I think we would’ve gotten back together anyways, but yeah, thanks for helping us out.”  
  
"No problem," I reply. "We’ll meet you back at your house, then?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
He has a goofy grin on his face, and as soon as he’s out of earshot, Kellin comments on it: “That is the look of  _love_ , Vic.”  
  
"They’re fucking adorable," I agree. After a short pause, I add, "I wonder if anyone has ever said that about us."  
  
Without warning, he turns and kisses me softly. “I hope so.”  
  
—  
  
Kellin’s comment about being skeptical is annoying the fuck out of me. As much as I try, I find I just can’t get it out of my mind. I know he was only joking, and it shouldn’t affect me as much as it does, but I have to admit—it stings a little.  
  
I don’t say anything about it until we’re back at Austin and Alan’s house, in the guest bedroom. Kellin is whistling an upbeat tune, apparently oblivious to my irritation.  
  
"Hey," I say to him. "What did you mean earlier today? When you said about being skeptical?"  
  
"Oh, that? I just meant that, y’know, you’re always the skeptical one between the two of us, so I thought it was funny how that time it was me."  
  
He sounds casual, and I should probably just stop where I am, but my mind won’t seem to let it go. “What makes you think I’m skeptical?”  
  
He shrugs. “Well, you are.” He says it like it’s obvious. “You can never just take things as they are. You gotta question everything.”  
  
"Is that a bad thing?" I say. Now he’s kind of pissing me off. "Am I supposed to go around blindly accepting everything that comes my way?"  
  
"Well, no, but it’d be nice if you loosened up just a  _little_. I mean, Jesus, the world isn’t out to get you.”  
  
I roll my eyes, suddenly fed up with him. I make my way towards the door, but he calls after me, “Whoa, where ya going? Oh, you’re pissed at me now, aren’t you?”  
  
I spin around. “Yes, actually, I am.”  
  
He snorts. “Big surprise there.”  
  
"What’s  _that_  supposed to mean?”  
  
"You’re always pissed at me, Vic. There’s always something. Calm down a little. Jesus Christ."  
  
"Oh, don’t you pull this passive-aggressive shit on me, Kellin."  
  
He holds his hands up. “Whoa, okay.  _What_  passive-aggressive shit?”  
  
I motion to him. He’s just proving my point right now. “ _This_! Acting like you’re completely innocent, playing the victim, when really you’re so full of shit.”  
  
"Oh, you want me to be aggressive, then?" He puts his hands back down and takes a step toward me. "Because I can do that."  
  
"What I  _want_  is for you to just shut the fuck up!”  
  
"Well, guess what, Vic? I’m not going to do that! I’m going to do as I please, and I don’t give a fuck if your narrow, perfectionist mind can’t handle that."  
  
"Oh, so now I’m a  _perfectionist_?”  
  
"Yes!" Kellin snaps. "You can’t handle anything being wrong! If everything is perfect but one little thing, you won’t pay attention to anything but that one thing. And that’s where the skepticism comes in, because  _nothing_  lives up to your fucking standards! You’re never satisfied with anything!”  
  
"Well, if you hate me so much, then why are you still here?"  
  
"I don’t hate you! I’m just mad because you’re so fucking critical and such a fucking asshole!"  
  
"Okay, my turn," I interrupt. "You think I’m the only one at fault here? You’re so self-centered I can hardly stand it! Self-centered and childish and obnoxious and rude!"  
  
"So what? I can’t help that!"  
  
"Oh, but I can help being a ‘perfectionist’? You’re allowed to be annoyed at me, but when I’m annoyed at you, I’m being an asshole? That’s a load of shit, Kellin! Stop acting like you’re not the problem!"  
  
"Stop acting like  _you’re_  not the problem!” Kellin spits back, his face red, his voice so high and loud it’s almost shrill. “You know what? Maybe I  _do_  hate you! Because right now, I can’t find anything to like about you! I don’t understand how I even got this far with you!”  
  
"Well, maybe I hate you, too!" I shout. "Maybe I hate that you—"  
  
"Well, maybe  _I_  hate that  _you_ —”  
  
And then we’re screaming over each other, getting up in each other’s faces, picking out every single thing we can’t stand about each other.  
  
"This relationship is going to hell!" I yell.  
  
Kellin’s voice is louder than I’ve ever heard it before when he shoots back, “Then  _to hell with it_! You know what?  _I’m_  unhappy with where this has been going!”  
  
The exclamation rattles throughout the house, followed by silence. While his entire being is fired up with heat and anger, I coldly reply, “Fine.” I make sure he can hear the tension running beneath my voice. “Then let’s stop it. It’s gone far enough.”  
  
For a moment, we just stare at each other. He doesn’t have to ask if this means that we’re breaking up. He knows.  
  
"Fine," he says softly. "Then it’s over." With that, he storms past me, out of the room.  
  
It’s only about twenty minutes later that I calm down enough to realize what just happened: I just let go of my other half. I hate him so much, but I love him, too.  
  
My mind switches back to earlier today, to Kellin’s words written on a wall:  _You are such a perfect enemy._  It switches back to the first time we met, to our symbol, to our supposed infinity.  
  
As my leftover anger slips away, replaced by an ache in my chest, I sink down to the floor. And I begin to cry.


	5. Extraordinary

**Chapter 5 - Kellin**  
  
I don’t pack. I just leave.  
  
I run out of the room, out of the house, ignoring any exclamations or questions. I jump into the car and drive.  
  
 _I hate him. I hate him so fucking much._  
  
This is the thought that I repeat in my head, over and over again. I focus on nothing but that thought, so I don’t have to dwell on the fact that I’m still not happy. We broke up, the source of my anger gone from my life for good. I should be happy.  
  
Before I know it, I find myself parked in front of the same hotel that Alan was staying in earlier. I have nothing with me, but I go inside anyways and request a room. For a second, the woman at the desk looks at me like I’m crazy, but then she seems to understand.  
  
As soon as I enter my room and close the door behind me, my hatred for Vic starts to fade. And it fades  _fast_ , leaving me with an empty feeling.  
  
We broke up. It’s over. It’ll never be the same again.  
  
I slowly make my way over to the bed, falling into it face-first. An unexpected sob forces itself out of me, and from there, it all goes downhill.  
  
I cry loudly and steadily, unable to even slow down no matter what I do. I’m screaming, too, and hyperventilating—I can hardly breathe, and whenever I try to form words, they just come out like a broken wail.  
  
 _I hate him. I hate him so fucking much._  
  
Even as the thought passes through my mind again, I know it’s not true. After everything that has ever happened, it’s still not true. I don’t hate him.  
  
And the reason I’m not happy is because I know this. I know that I regret walking out on him. But if we can’t stop arguing, then what does it matter if we still care about each other? Shouldn’t we just let it go?  
  
Maybe. But I don’t want to.  
  
My phone rings, and after a few moments of taking deep breaths, I take a chance and answer it. “Hello?” I say, then wince when I hear my voice crack.  
  
"Kellin? It’s Alan," says the person on the other end. "Where are you?"  
  
"Uh, the same hotel you were at earlier," I tell him, still wiping away tears. There aren’t as many now, but they still fall down continuously. "Room 155. First floor. Why?"  
  
"Well, because I wanted to talk to at least one of you, and I wasn’t getting anywhere with Vic. Austin’s been at the grocery store. I’ll be over in a few minutes."  
  
"Wait, you don’t have to—"  
  
But he has already hung up.  
  
I sigh and try to focus on making myself look at least somewhat calm and normal, though I know it’s a lost cause. Vic keeps popping back into my mind, and every time, it causes a new wave of tears. Finally, I give up and sit down on the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest and resting my head on them.  
  
A few minutes later, there’s a knocking on the door. I sigh, flipping my hair over so that it covers more of my face. Then I get up and let Alan in.  
  
"Kellin," he says, closing the door behind him and sitting down on the bed. "You would not _believe_  the traffic out there. Completely nonexistent.”  
  
I force out a little laugh, and then Alan gets more serious. “You and I both know what this is about,” he says.  
  
I nod. “Yeah.” There’s no way he couldn’t have heard us.  
  
"You two say you hate each other."  
  
I nod again, feeling more tears start to well up. “Yeah.”  
  
He shrugs, obviously not sure where to begin. “Well…what happened?”  
  
"Do you mean today or just in general?"  
  
Another shrug. “Either one, I guess. I don’t know. I’m not a king of horrific arguments.”  
  
I want to smile at that, but I can’t bring myself to. I sit down next to him. “Honestly, I don’t know what happened to us. We just…can’t seem to stop fighting. And hurting each other.”  
  
He nods, looking as if he’s actually listening to me. “How long have you been dating?”  
  
"Two years."  
  
He lets out a low whistle. “And it’s always been like this?”  
  
I shake my head. “No. Most of the time, it wasn’t. It didn’t start until around two months ago.”  
  
After a short pause, Alan says, “Well, I guess you’ve gotta think about it, because you’ve got around twenty-two months of good and two months of bad. So I guess it’s just a matter of whether or not those two months of bad are enough to cancel out those twenty-two months of good. Whether or not you think it’ll get better from here or worse. Whether or not you think you can fix it.”  
  
For someone who isn’t as experienced with this, he’s doing a really good job of helping me.  
  
"I guess that’s the problem," I say, staring down at my hands. "Because I love him, I really do. And I want him to be happy." I shake my head. "I just…don’t know if that happiness includes me."  
  
"Well, I can’t tell you that," he says slowly. "But what I will tell you is that if you care about him, if you think your relationship can be saved from whatever’s happening to it, then you should take a chance. Don’t let it be the end if you don’t want it to be."  
  
I look up at him. “Thanks,” I say. “Really. You didn’t have to come here, you know. You didn’t even have to try to help us.”  
  
"I know. But that argument sounded really ugly, and I didn’t like thinking that this was something normal for you guys. I wanted to see an end put to it."  
  
"That’s another thing," I say. "I don’t know if an end ever  _will_  be put to it. Even if we do figure things out this time, that doesn’t mean it’ll be the last time. That’s what always happens. I just want us to stop arguing like this for good, you know? I mean, maybe occasionally we’ll have a fight, but I don’t like it being expected. But I don’t know how to end it for good, or even prevent it. It feels like the only way it’ll stop is if we stay away from each other. But I don’t  _want_ to stay away from him. He’s amazing and funny and creative and brilliant and sweet and—”  
  
"Well, there you go," Alan interrupts suddenly. I can almost see the lightbulb floating over his head. "When you were arguing, you kept listing all the bad things about each other. But look what you just did there. You started talking about the good things. So now we’re back to this question: Does the good outweigh the bad, or does the bad outweigh the good? Because it’s not gonna be all sunshine and rainbows, Kellin. People are gonna hurt you sometimes. Austin has hurt me. I’ve hurt him. Vic hurt you. And you’ve probably hurt him, too. You can’t escape that."  
  
For a few moments, I can’t even find my words. “Alan, that’s…wow,” I say. “I’ll get back to you on that one.”  
  
He laughs a little. “Do you want me to help you come up with some sort of plan? You know, to get him back?”  
  
I shake my head. “No. Not yet, at least. I need some time to figure this all out.”  
  
"Fair enough." He stands up. "I’ll leave you alone, okay? There are some stores around here, so I think I’m going shopping. Not sure what for, but I’ll come up with something." He waves at me. "Later, Kells."  
  
"Later," I reply, and then he’s out the door.  
  
I flop onto my back on the bed, my hair falling into my face. Alan’s question bounces around in my head:  _Does the good outweigh the bad, or does the bad outweigh the good?_  
  
My mind switches back—back to the twenty-two months of good, back to the time before our love started to die.  _What was different?_  I wonder.  _What happened? What changed?_  
  
—  
  
I remember our first date like it was yesterday. I spent a crazy amount of time preparing, obsessing over my clothes, my hair, even things like my eyes. Vic was picking me up at seven. He told me earlier that he was taking me to a special place, but he didn’t tell me anything else.  
  
 _Should I dress fancy or casual?_  I wondered.  _Should I straighten my hair or something?_  
  
The doorbell rang before I could think too much more, and because I didn’t want to seem like the type of person to take forever, I gave up and went downstairs to answer the door.  
  
Vic stood in front of me, looking about the same as he normally did. He was smiling, and he had something in his hands—but it wasn’t chocolate or flowers. It was a band t-shirt.  
  
"You said something about liking Every Time I Die," he said, holding it up to show me.  
  
I took it from his hands. “Oh my God!” It was black, with a sort of skull design and the words “Every Time I Die” across the top of the head. “Vic, you didn’t have to do this!”  
  
"I wanted to," he replied simply, taking my hand. "Are you ready?"  
  
I smiled. “I’m ready. Where are we going?”  
  
"You’ll have to wait and see."  
  
Vic ended up driving me to a venue where a bunch of small-town rock bands were playing. As it turned out, Vic was in one of those bands as the lead singer, and that night, they performed, his eyes on me the entire time. That was the first night I felt myself really falling for him.  
  
Vic’s band broke up a short time afterward, but not before he took me again to one of their last performances. That time, he dedicated a song to me.  
  
The thing about Vic is that he has a tendency to go overboard with things—not as much now, but definitely back then. Now that I think about it, I guess I can say that I do, too. We were always fighting  _for_  each other, not with each other. And as I keep on thinking, I suddenly realize what it is that we’ve been missing, what it is that we’ve been doing wrong.  
  
We stopped trying.  
  
We stopped trying because two months ago, Vic and I decided for certain that we were going to get married one day soon, even though neither of us had officially proposed. After we made that decision, we felt like we’d finally tied the knot. We felt like our relationship’s journey had come to end.  
  
Obviously, we were wrong, because that’s when all the problems set in.  
  
I jump up, suddenly realizing what I’m going to do. I don’t know how. I just know that I’m going to do it, and I’m going to do it tonight.  
  
Before I have a chance to call Alan, he calls me. “Alan!” I say. “I’ve got an idea!”  
  
"Hold that thought," Alan replies. "I just got a call from Austin, who’s back at the house now. He says Vic’s gone."  
  
My heart starts beating faster. “Gone?”  
  
"Yeah. No trace of him, either. I don’t know how he could’ve…you had the car, right?"  
  
"Uh, yeah." I stand up and leave my room, heading out to the main lobby and then into the parking lot. I’ve got a bad feeling about this, and it only worsens when I see that my instincts are right. "Shit."  
  
"What?" Alan asks.  
  
"The car’s gone."  
  
"It’s  _gone_?”  
  
I nod, though he can’t see it. “Yep. My guess is that he walked here, took it, and drove away to God-knows-where.”  
  
"But  _why_? Where is he going?”  
  
But there’s another thing about Vic: He almost always gets his way, if he can help it. And now I’m thinking back to two days ago, when we first started this little trip. Vic wanted to go right. He did not get his way that time.  
  
Would I put it past him? If he’s angry or upset enough, then no. I would not put anything past an angry Vic Fuentes.  
  
"Uh, it’s okay," I say, thinking faster than I ever thought possible. "The plan can still work. But I need you guys to help me."  
  
My desperate, panicked mind is working at the speed of light, but one thought rings clear through it all.  
  
 _I love him. I love him so fucking much._


	6. Like We Used To

**Chapter 6 - Vic**  
  
The beach has always been one of my favorite places, especially after all the other people have left. Some might complain about the sand being annoying or the water being too cold, but not me. This is something Kellin likes to regularly point out—how my so-called perfectionism seems to fade away when I’m there, how I actually start to “loosen up”. And as much as I don’t want to think about Kellin right now, what he says is true. The beach calms me. So that’s where I’m headed.  
  
I try not to smile at the thought of what his reaction will be when he discovers that I chased after him, stole our car, and took off without it. He does these types of things to me all the time, so now the joke’s on him.  
  
 _I wonder if he’ll find me,_  I think, unconsciously hoping that he will. He knows me well enough. It shouldn’t be too hard.  
  
Then I remember that we broke up, that he walked out on me, that I let him, and my smile disappears. Of course he won’t come after me. He hates me.  
  
 _And I hate him,_  I remind myself.  _I hate him because he’s selfish and rude and impulsive and childish and obnoxious and…_  
  
But those words are starting to lose their meaning. I turn the radio on and blare it to prevent myself from thinking too much about him.  
  
The sun is beginning to set by the time I reach the beach. There are still a few people hanging around from what I can tell, but for the most part, it’s pretty empty. That’s how I like it.  
  
I sit down in the sand and pull my legs up to my chest, letting the breeze brush over me. The sun is a bright orange, causing the water to shimmer. Automatically, I think,  _I wish Kellin was here._  
  
 _No, you don’t,_  I tell myself.  _He’ll just ruin it anyways. He’s infuriating._  
  
But I can imagine him here, sitting next to me with his head on my shoulder, turning to give me a soft peck on the lips. It’s happened before, and I want it back.  
  
—  
  
I’ll never forget the day we started dating.  
  
Kellin had been acting a little weird lately, and I didn’t really understand why. On that particular day, he texted me and told me to go outside and check what was on my back porch. Confused, I did, and found a wrapped piece of chocolate placed in front of me. A few feet away, there was another. And another.  
  
It didn’t take me long to realize that this was a trail, and I followed it into the woods behind my house. Just as I was nearing the end, something hit my head, and I looked up to see Kellin sitting in a tree with a chocolate box in his hands. The thing he’d just thrown at me was another piece.  
  
"Hey, Victor," he said casually.  
  
I raised my eyebrows. “What are you doing?”  
  
"Oh, you know. Just… _hanging around_.”  
  
I snorted. “Ha, ha.”  
  
"Come up here with me," he said, waving the box around.  
  
"What? I can’t climb a tree."  
  
"You know you want to," he sang.  
  
"Okay, fine. If I die, it’s your fault." With that, I reluctantly started to climb up the tree.  
  
It was a bit more difficult than I’d expected, and Kellin seemed to like watching me struggle. “You okay there?” he asked, amused.  
  
I pulled myself up onto the branch that he was sitting on. “Yep. So, why’d you bring me up here?”  
  
"To give you chocolate," he replied innocently.  
  
I laughed a little. “What are you, my boyfriend?”  
  
He gave me a strange look, and for a moment I wondered if I’d gone too far. I had a huge crush on him—I had since the day we met—but maybe that comment had made it too obvious.  
  
Then Kellin said, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”  
  
That surprised me. I mean, he’d seemed interested in me on the day we met—he’d even called me attractive—but after that initial awkwardness, we were just good friends. I hadn’t thought he was really looking for more than that.  
  
"Vic, I…" Kellin started. And then he kissed me.  
  
Those few seconds were sweet and blissful and didn’t last near long enough. When Kellin pulled away, his cheeks were red, and he suddenly seemed embarrassed. “I—sorry,” he stuttered. “I just—”  
  
I kissed him back.  
  
I remember putting my hands around his waist and pulling him closer. I remember him sighing into my mouth, tense at first but relaxing at my touch. I remember us finally breaking the kiss, both shocked and barely able to comprehend what had just happened.  
  
"So," I said, " _are_  you my boyfriend?”  
  
He nodded, still breathless. “Absolutely.”  
  
And then he lost his balance and nearly fell out of the tree—good thing I caught him.  
  
"Whoa," I said. "You almost  _fell_  for me.”  
  
Kellin rolled his eyes. “Too late. I already did.” With that, he kissed me on the cheek.  
  
I find myself smiling at the memory. Then that smile turns to a frown as I remember that we will never have another moment like that again. I’ll never again hear his laugh or watch as he does something so childish and adorable that I can’t resist him. I’ll never again follow his chocolate trails. I’ll never again kiss him in a tree. I’ll never again kiss him at all.  
  
It occurs to me now that I don’t care about all the things I yelled at him for. I don’t care that he acts like a little kid and never thinks things through. I don’t care that he’s obnoxious more often than not. I don’t give a shit if he’s self-centered or rude. I dealt with that for two years.  
  
Just as I’m starting to desperately think that maybe it’s not too late, a voice calls out, “Vic!”  
  
I glance over my shoulder to see Austin running toward me. “Hey!” I call back, standing up. “What’s up? How’d you find me?”  
  
"Kellin," he says, sounding a bit out of breath. "He—he’s got something for you. I can’t tell you what it is, but just…will you come with me?"  
  
"Of course," I tell him, and then we’re off.  
  
I hop into the passenger seat of Austin’s car. “Where’s Alan?”  
  
"With Kellin," Austin explains. "They, uh…never mind."  
  
"What is it?" I press as he pulls out of the parking lot.  
  
"Never mind," Austin repeats. "I can’t tell you. You’ll see."  
  
I can’t help but think that now I feel the way Kellin must’ve felt every time I’ve ever driven him somewhere without telling him where. Karma’s a bitch.  
  
The closer we get to wherever we’re going, the faster my heart races. I can’t help but feel cautiously optimistic, thinking that maybe it really isn’t too late, that maybe our relationship really isn’t going to hell. Then again, I would also not put it past Kellin to go to extreme lengths just to tell someone to fuck off. Just because he has a little something for me doesn’t mean that it’s a good something.  
  
I ask Austin a few questions, but he makes it clear that he’s not giving away any hints. Time seems to go by in slow motion, especially since this is all I can think about—I’m not in the mood for small talk. So I just sit and wait.  
  
Austin, however,  _is_  in the mood for conversation. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight about coming with me,” he says.  
  
I turn to look at him. “Why?”  
  
He shrugs. “Because it’s Kellin. You guys had a pretty nasty fight, or so I’m hearing.”  
  
I nod. “We, uh…we broke up.” Before he can respond, I change the subject. “So, how long have you and Alan been dating?”  
  
He smiles a little. “About three years now.”  
  
"Can you tell me a little bit about you guys?" I ask. "I just kind of want to know…y’know, what a good relationship is supposed to be like, I guess."  
  
"Getting deeper now, are we?" he teases, but then a thoughtful look crosses his face. "Well," he says after a moment of silence, "for me, a good relationship is based on trust, loyalty, and mutual respect. You can’t have a good sort of relationship with anyone unless you both trust each other, are both loyal to each other, and both respect each other. And there are the feelings, of course, and they have to be real. Not only real, but equal, too, I’d say. I would never stay with someone who obviously doesn’t care about the relationship as much as I do. And don’t stay with someone you can’t stand, either. It’s kind of a no-brainer, but still. If you honestly can’t see any hope for your relationship, none at all, then end it. Find someone better." Then he laughs a little, to lighten the mood. "Whew."  
  
I nod, trying to take everything in. “That’s…that was really good, actually. Thanks.” I switch the subject again. “So, what got you started on the peanut butter pizza addiction?”  
  
And then we’re just talking, and I almost forget about wherever we’re going until Austin pulls up into an unfamiliar parking lot and says, “We’re here.”  
  
With that, I am snapped back into reality, back into thoughts of Kellin, with Austin’s words from earlier ringing in the back of my mind:  _If you honestly can’t see any hope for your relationship, none at all, then end it. Find someone better._  
  
But I can see hope. It’s there, and it might be fleeting, but it exists. So I hop out of the car and say, “Okay. Let’s see the something that Kellin’s got for me.”  
  
Austin leads me into what I quickly realize is a venue—a venue where music is played. A venue like the ones I used to take Kellin to, when I was still in a band.  
  
I turn to Austin. “What—how—?”  
  
He smiles. “Well, when Kellin told us about his little idea, Alan and I realized that we knew some people who could help with it. So we made a few calls, and then it all just sort of came together.” He uses his phone to check the time. “Okay, it’s almost eight-thirty, so we made it just in time. Good.”  
  
"Just in time for what?"  
  
At that moment, a painfully and wonderfully familiar voice speaks into a microphone: “Hi.”  
  
Everyone turns to look at the stage, where two people have taken their places. There is Alan, who is sitting on a seat with an acoustic guitar. And there is Kellin, standing up front, holding the microphone close to his lips even though it’s already secure on its stand. He’s wearing the Every Time I Die t-shirt I got him—I smile a little at that—and his eyes seem to be scanning the crowd, searching for something. Or someone.  
  
"Uh, this isn’t really a set or anything," he says, a bit awkwardly, "since we’re only doing one song. So we’ll do our best to make it quick and then get the hell out of here."  
  
That earns a few laughs, and Kellin does a little half-smile. “But, uh,” he continues, “I just wanted to say that, uh…this song is for someone in the crowd. Well, hopefully in the crowd.” A few more people laugh, and he blushes. “So, yeah, it’s called ‘Don’t You Ever Forget About Me’, and I hope you enjoy it.”  
  
He and Alan exchange glances, and after a brief moment of silence, Alan starts to strum his guitar in a quick, steady progression.  
  
I turn to Austin, who has a satisfied look on his face. I want to say,  _He means me! This song is for me!_  But that’s obvious. That was the plan all along.  
  
And just as I think this, Kellin opens his mouth and starts to sing.  
  
His voice is high and soft and sweet, and I find myself hanging onto his every word. Even after two years, I’ve never heard Kellin sing. Sure, he’s done things like run around the house making up a song about the number 69, but up until now, I’ve never heard him really  _sing_. And it’s beautiful.  
  
At the same time, I’m taking in the lyrics, thinking about everything he’s saying, things like _Don’t stop thinking about me_  and  _I know I’m not the easiest one to love_ , things like  _I’m so bad at being lonely_  and  _No one said love’s not for taking chances_.  
  
I am going to inject this song into my bloodstream.  
  
Near the very end, Kellin’s eyes lock with mine. He seems startled to see me and nearly messes up his next line, but recovers quickly enough to jump back in and finish it off: “ _Just close your eyes and fall asleep tonight…_ ”  
  
As everyone applauds, I stand up.  
  
"Kellin," I say. And I run up to the stage.  
  
People are staring at me like I’m crazy, but no one looks more shocked than Kellin himself. He seems to have lost all his words as I push myself onto the stage. Someone is calling for security, but then Kellin finds his voice and says, “No, hold on!”  
  
"Kellin," I repeat. But I don’t know what to say, so I kiss him, right in front of everyone.  
  
It’s short and sweet, and when I pull away, he stutters, “I—you—I didn’t think—I—what—”  
  
"Kellin, I’ll never forget about you," I interrupt, taking his hand. "I promise."  
  
I don’t care that everyone is watching. Up here, it’s like they don’t even exist.  
  
Someone starts clapping, and after a few stunned seconds, more people join in. Kellin smiles, breathless and disbelieving. “Vic, I—”  
  
Then he cuts himself off by kissing me back.  
  
—  
  
"I love you," Kellin gasps. "Oh my God, I love you, you crazy bastard."  
  
We are sitting on the bed in the guest bedroom, and Kellin is on my lap with his legs wrapped around me, and we are kissing like there’s no tomorrow.  
  
"I love you, too," I say, my hands roaming up and down his body. "Kellin, I don’t give a shit about anything I said about you. I don’t care. I just want us to be okay."  
  
"I don’t give a shit, either," Kellin says, resting his forehead on mine and staring right into my eyes. "I’m not leaving you."  
  
"And I’m not letting you." With that, I keep on kissing him.  
  
A few minutes ago, we talked about everything. We talked, and we agreed that there is still hope for us, that we have to fight for it. And then, well…this happened.  
  
We’re leaving tomorrow, to finish off our little road trip. We don’t know where we’re going, but we know we’re going somewhere.  
  
Kellin pulls his phone out of his back pocket. As I softly kiss his jawline, I see him opening up his voice-recording app and pressing the “Record” button.  
  
"Day three," he says. "I’d say things have been resolved quite nicely."  
  
—  
  
The next morning, we find ourselves underneath the lone tree that stands on top of a hill. I’ve got a knife in my hands, and Kellin is nodding. “You know what to do,” he says.  
  
I turn to the tree and start carving. This tree is huge, seeming to guard over the town at the bottom of the hill, and we are about to claim it.  
  
The sun has risen by now, and its light shines from in between the branches. When I’m done, I step back and admire it. It seems to take on a new meaning now.  
  
"Sempiternal," I blurt as I stare at the design.  
  
Kellin just stares at me, confused. “What?”  
  
"Sempiternal," I repeat. "It’s a word you don’t hear often. It means, like…forever. Eternal. Everlasting. Infinite."  
  
"Like us," Kellin says. "We’re sempiternal." His fingers trace the newly-carved infinity sign in its endless loop.  
  
"Absolutely," I agree, pulling him out from underneath the tree and into broad daylight. I grin. "We’re sempiternal, baby."  
  
"I love it when you call me that," Kellin says.  
  
And on the top of the hill, we kiss again.  
  
—  
  
It’s been two months since then, and Kellin and I are fighting again—over what movie to watch.  
  
We’re standing in the middle of the living room, and I have just suggested choices such as  _The Conjuring_  and  _Paranormal Activity_. Kellin thinks this is a terrible idea.  
  
"You know I hate horror movies," he whines, jutting out his lower lip in a pout.  
  
I stick my tongue out at him. “Wimp.”  
  
He flips me off. “Pissplane.”  
  
I laugh so hard I snort. “Oh my God. That’s still the best insult ever. Fine, you win. What are we watching?”  
  
“ _Toy Story_.”  
  
I laugh again. “Are you serious?”  
  
"Absolutely. To infinity and beyond. That’s our motto, right? Because, y’know,  _infinity_.”  
  
I peck him on the cheek. “Okay, whatever.  _Toy Story_  it is.”  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"But I get to choose next time, Kellin Fuentes," I say, for the sole purpose of calling him that.  
  
"I’m not Kellin Fuentes yet, you moron," he teases, automatically fingering his engagement ring.  
  
"No, but you will be. See? I told you. When we made that deal on the day we met…we’re stuck together forever."  
  
"Good. I like being stuck with you. Hey, remember that time when you forgot your phone?"  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"Ha. Never gets old."  
  
With that, we pull out  _Toy Story_ , pop it into the DVD player, and make ourselves home on the couch with some popcorn. There’s plenty of room on both sides, but we sit together in the middle.  
  
"Am I still your perfect enemy?" I ask.  
  
He rests his head on my shoulder, linking his fingers with mine. “Sempiternally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ending was so fluffy and cheesy I am not ashamed
> 
> In all seriousness, thanks for reading this little thing. It was a fun ride :)


End file.
